Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (34 page)

“I am crossing,” he yelled. “When you see the rope yanked twice, start climbing. The fire is at least fifteen feet across. Tear pieces of cloth to protect your hands,” he added. He unclipped the end of his long sleeves and unrolled the thick, leather band that protected his wrists, forming makeshift gloves which he used to grasp the rope. He then swung his legs and crossed them around the rope; it bent and swayed under his weight, but did not break.

Good
, thought Ahiram.
I don’t want to roast like a chicken.

With one hand, he unclipped the handles from his belt and watched them slide down, then proceeded quickly forward. He could feel the heat on his back and his neck, but it was tolerable. Fortunately, the heels of his sturdy boots shielded his ankles and after a short while, he managed to reach the other end safely. He wondered how he would reach the ground, twenty feet below, without breaking his neck. Still holding the rope with his feet and hands, he arched his neck and looked around. He spotted a small platform protruding from the left side of the cave, five feet ahead and ten below. He hung by his arms, swayed his body to gain momentum and jumped. His clothes brushed against the wall and he landed on the platform, but lost his balance at the last moment and fell back. The reflexes he honed during years of training took over and he flipped, somersaulted and managed to land on his two feet.

The ground was hot, but bearable. He looked around him, wondering what lay ahead in the dark passage leading away from the cave. As he approached, a powerful, hot draft engulfed him, followed by a distant rumbling. Standing still, he waited. When nothing else happened he left the cave walking cautiously but rapidly to get ahead of the others. He knew Hiyam and her team would move swiftly. The commander assured him there would be no magical gimmicks, but could he trust the Baalites to refrain from magic in these dark caves?

He walked briskly inside a narrow corridor shaped like an elongated egg—clearly the handiwork of men when the mines were turned into a tourist site. The light from a series of small oil lamps, set twenty feet apart, seemed to mock him. It cast long shadows that swallowed the ceiling and hid the ground three feet away from him.

Odd
, thought Ahiram.
Last time I came this way, the light was brighter. I wonder what the arbitrators are up to now?

The arbitrators were probably roaming around silently, watching the participants. Suddenly, he realized the air and the ground were hotter. He felt the wall to his right. It was also hot.
It can’t be the fire around the pool,
he thought
. I’m too far for that. Where’s the source of heat then?

He heard a gurgling sound rise from the ground. A geyser shot up several feet behind him. Steaming water hit the ceiling like a fist, splashing the passage with burning hot droplets. Ahiram jerked back. He knew the water was near the boiling point and would scald him severely.

He turned back wanting to warn the others, but could see no one. He forged ahead cautiously, watching for any bubbling sound. A few feet ahead, a second, more powerful geyser erupted. Ahiram waited for the path to clear before resuming his trek. He managed to get to the end of the track unharmed, even though several geysers jetted from the ground. He had avoided them thanks to their predictable gurgling.

He walked into a large cavern with a dome-shaped ceiling. A lake, at least one thousand feet wide, filled it. The walls of the caverns twinkled brightly, even though no source of light burned in the cave. The dwarfs, who used these burning stones in their mining operations, had gifted this batch to the Game. The water was bright blue, as a thousand shining stones floated on the surface inside glass cups. He stood on the sandy beach listening to the soft ripple of waves licking his boots, engrossed in the dazzling light show. The silent lake was linked by a siphon to the hidden lake outside and to the 121-foot-tall Falls of Wonderment located deep within the caves of meyroon. Reluctantly, Ahiram broke free from the enchantment and focused on the Game.

He went to the five small boats moored at shore by thick ropes and picked the smallest of them. Before pushing away, he tangled the ropes of the four remaining boats to slow down the other teams.

Rowing alone was a serious disadvantage, and he feared the incomparable rowers of the Quibanxian teams most.

After pushing the boat away from shore, he rowed vigorously and his shoulder started hurting again. It was not healing properly and Habael had been worried. “After the Games, you better rest for a week or two to let it heal, or else it may hamper you for the rest of your life.” Ahiram had smiled.

My dear Habael,
he thought as he pulled on the oars,
if I win these Games, I intend to rest for more than two weeks in the house of my father.
That thought gave him courage, and he rowed with more vigor. Halfway across the lake, he saw the team of Bahiya enter the cave, followed closely by the teams of Quibanxe. He noticed that the team of Baal was carrying a man.
Probably burned,
Ahiram thought. He could not restrain the feeling of satisfaction. A burned man meant one less pair of arms for rowing. He wanted to reprimand himself for thinking this way, but he simply could not. To avoid losing, he had to get to shore well before the other teams, so he rowed with renewed energy. Just as the boat skidded onto soft sand, he jumped out and glanced at the other teams. As expected, the Quibanxians had crossed over three-quarters of the lake, leaving him with a slim margin. Hiyam’s team was right behind, and in the distance, the two other teams were moving in, rowing with vigor.

Ahiram ran to the wall and free-climbed the straight façade to reach a platform sixty feet high. From there, he had to jump and catch a rope dangling in midair through a shaft piercing the dome.

This shaft, known as the Pit of Thunder, started three thousand feet above in the Mine of Gold and ran downward in a straight line, ending as a large, gaping hole in the roof over the lake. The masks were hidden in the Hall of Statues, and the shaft was the quickest way there. The steep staircase led to fifty-six intermediate levels; therefore none of the contenders—not even Hiyam’s team running up these stairs—could beat a fast climber up the shaft.

The rope was three thousand sixty feet long and hung from an iron pole high above. It dangled in the air sixty feet over the lake and fifteen feet from the platform that Ahiram wanted to reach. Contestants who failed to grab it fell into the lake, which was thankfully deep. The climb proved arduous, for the wall was humid and caused him to lose his grip a few times. As he reached the platform, he heard the muffled sound of boats sliding onto the sand. Ignoring his competitors, he leaned against the wall, forcing himself to rest and catch his breath. He could almost hear Commander Tanios’ teaching: “No Silent shall begin an arduous climb without a proper squat leg wrap. During the climb, the Silent shall remain recollected and anchored to the rope, which he shall keep motionless as if he was a shadow gliding on a wall. Remember this technique, it may save your life.”

I have one chance at this,
he thought
. I cannot miss. Once I grab that rope, I’ll have to climb at a steady pace to stay ahead of them
.

The rules required a slower contender to step aside onto one of the resting slabs jutting from the circular wall, but impatient and faster climbers never waited for a sluggish competitor to reach the wedge of stone and would simply climb over him. Sometimes, the unfortunate player fell, taking others with him.

Ahiram focused with the intensity that was second nature to a Silent. He ran hard and jumped, grabbing the rope with both hands. It swayed under his weight. Pain exploded from his wounded shoulder. A moan slipped through his tight lips, and he released his left arm to ease the throbbing a little. Once the rope settled, he managed to grip it with both arms and legs. He quickly rubbed his shoulder with some of the pungent ointment Habael had given him, dulling the pain to a bearable level. He looked down and saw the quiet surface of the lake calling to him, urging him to let go, to allow himself to fall into the cold embrace of the water and be carried away. He looked up and could barely see the top of the Pit. Resolutely, Ahiram started the arduous climb.

Initially, the dwarfs had used the Pit to move provender down, and precious metal up. They had found a small crack through which water seeped, and they dug into the rock with the determination of termites until it became this gigantic pit, wide enough for a vertical cableway used to hoist miners and goods up and down with relative ease. After the miners left, the cableway fell into desuetude and was altogether removed when the Games were introduced.

To the athletes in the Game, it was a singular challenge requiring strength, stamina, and a focused mind. They had to manage their speed and the time they took to rest on the slabs located every three hundred feet. Once out of the Pit, they had to sprint to the Hall of Statues to locate a mask of gold. Therefore, they could not afford to reach the top exhausted. Ahiram knew that many athletes were climbing the rope below him. He wondered if the rope could hold all the contenders without breaking.

Feverishly, he went on, forcing himself to rest as needed. He was one hundred and fifty feet high in the Pit, and twelve climbers had come after him already.
This is it,
he thought.
By now, every athlete still in the Games must be climbing.
He looked up and saw a bright, white spot far away, and felt like a snail inching his way on a dandelion’s stem. Why he thought of a dandelion, he did not know, but the image popped in his head when suddenly he saw the face of a young boy before him—a face he had seen before, six years ago. The young boy looked concerned.

“He found you. To defeat him, you will need El-Windiir’s sword.”

Ahiram was slowly becoming incensed by these impromptu visions of people he had never met, who blurted mysterious sayings about swords needed to defeat a creature whom he had never seen—without bothering to introduce themselves, or explaining how they knew him in the first place—or why they thought he was connected to all of this. He wished he could sit with the young boy around a warm plate of chicken. He even felt like asking the mysterious, young man if he liked chicken, but then the image of Jedarc popped in his head.
Now, that’s too much, even for me.
Ahiram breathed deeply and shook his head, trying to regain a semblance of control.

“Who are you? Who found me? What is all this about?”

“No time for questions now,” replied the young boy. “Find the sword, you
must
find the sword.”

The boy’s image disappeared. Just then, he heard a strong rumbling from the lake beneath. Ahiram froze. He did not recall the arbitrators saying anything about a rumbling.
Better move
, he thought. He gripped the rope and climbed as quickly as prudence allowed. The next few minutes were soundless—except for the quick shuffle of his hands and feet on the rough rope—and just when he began to wonder if he had imagined it, the rumbling was back, and it was now louder. Ahiram felt a knot in his stomach. He was no longer climbing to win; he was climbing for his life. He reached the first slab and took a forced rest to ease the pain in his shoulder when a thunderous explosion filled the pit.
The Pit of Thunder,
he thought as he started climbing again.

Then it happened. He heard the screams of the players down below, which were silenced abruptly right when a powerful surge of water reached him. For a split second he lost his grip on the rope as the water slammed him against the wall.
A geyser?
He thought, stunned.
I did not know there were geysers in the lake.
The mass of liquid passed him by, continued its ascension for a little longer, slowed down and stopped. It then fell on him with a powerful rush. He gripped the rope and gritted his teeth and waited for the water to recede. Once in the clear, he resumed his ascent, hoping that all the players had survived the ordeal.

The rope was soaked now, making his grip precarious. He inched his way up, knowing that if there were still others below, they were doing the same. The rumbling started again. This infuriated him and boosted his strength. He moved up the rope, determined to get out of the next geyser’s reach, but he heard the thunderclap, and screams from below told him the water was coming. He gripped the rope tighter and the water hit him like a furious bull. This geyser was more powerful, toying with him like a child toys with a doll. It flung him against the wall, and he lost all sense of direction. The returning water pounded his shoulders, renewing his pain.

After a short moment of rest, he resumed his climb, his grip slipping now and then. Halfway to the next ledge, he heard a third rumbling.

Hold it. The water is cold. A geyser needs heat,
he thought,
This is not natural.
Then it struck him.
Magic. This must be magical. Does the high priestess want me dead so badly that she is willing to risk her daughter’s life? Then again, this boy—whoever he is—told me “He found you.” If he meant the priestess, he would have said
she
. But if it is not the priestess, then who is after me and why?

The geyser shot up, exploding like a booming thunder. The rushing water swallowed the screams of pain from below. Frantic, Ahiram climbed the rope, bracing for the incoming jet, but it only managed to lick the heels of his boots. Encouraged, he moved quickly up the rope, which was now dry, and reached the next ledge, where he rested.

I have two thousand four hundred feet to go,
he thought, looking up and wondering what insanity pushed the dwarfs to dig this bottomless hole.
One has to be driven mad by gold to be willing to dig so deep,
he thought. He resumed his climb just when the thunderclap resonated through the Pit. He glanced down and saw the water rushing toward him faster than an arrow. He stopped climbing, brought up his knees, and when the geyser reached him, he let it carry him, loosely holding the rope, then gripping it fiercely when the turbulent waters threatened to slam him into the walls.