The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1) (17 page)

Snuffing her candle, she followed Brother Soleil back down
the passage. The outer door was still open, so she put her back to the wall and
peeked in at the cages. The torch sat in the sconce, its flame a meager wisp. Everything
else was still the way it had been when she left, except that the shiny new
door at the other entrance was hanging open. Had she closed it behind her when
she entered the room? She couldn’t remember.

She took her time moving along the cages, searching either
side of the room for Brother Soleil. He was long gone, probably already in the
basilica by now, finding someplace to be alone so he could calm himself down
and decide on his next move. Brother Froderic would be missed, sooner rather
than later. The absence of one of the Greatly Esteemed for more than a few days
would not go unnoticed. Brother Soleil was in a bad predicament, though his
position of power within the Order gave him an advantage where predicaments
were concerned.

Bastille had a mind to leave the doors the way they were, but
she was more worried about the nomads getting in than she was about tampering
with the scene of the crime. She made sure the outer door was secure, then
pushed the inner door closed—making sure it latched this time—before she ascended
the spiral staircase.

She considered climbing the ladder and exiting the labyrinth
through the trapdoor above, but if Brother Soleil had gone that way he might
still be in the room beyond. Instead, she fled down the corridor the way she’d
come, as brisk as she could manage while keeping her candle lit. She reached
the end without so much as hearing another soul in the tunnels, and came to the
hatch that led to the walk-in freezer.

Producing the key from within her robes, she studied the
circular indentation in the wall. There were four small bumps—three squares and
a circle. She held the talisman in front of the indentation and pressed it into
place.
A perfect fit
. She twisted. The entire mechanism rotated. The
stone turned in its bearings with only the slightest sound. There was a click,
and the door at the top of the stairs flipped open.

The inset rotated back into place, and Bastille withdrew the
key and tucked it away before hopping over the lowest step and climbing the
stairs to the freezer. She waited for the door to close behind her. When it
didn’t, she pulled on the carcass again. Sure enough, the hatch slid back into
place. She said a prayer in the dark before she opened the freezer door, hoping
no one had come back to begin preparing the morning meal yet.
Thank the
Mouth
, she thought, when she emerged and found the larder empty.

Bastille had no idea what time it was, but strong rays of
daylight were flooding in through the windows at the front of the kitchen,
glinting off the old steel sink. When she passed by, her eyes came to rest on
the Cypriest. He wasn’t standing way up on the parapet, looking out over the
city in unyielding devotion, as the Cypriests were meant to. Father Kassic was
standing just outside the window, watching her through dull spiritless eyes.

CHAPTER 16

Like Nomads

Daxin leaned against a tree in the heat of the
afternoon, his injured foot resting on a high root. Behind him on the ground
lay the large, flat rock he’d located a few minutes earlier. Eight other men
stood, sat or kneeled around him, silent and hanging on his every word. Not
because they regarded him with any great respect or dignity, but because they
were hungry.

“My granddad told me they used
to bend the younger trees and rig them up like springs,” said Daxin. “That was
back when you could find a nice green sapling with some flexibility in it.
Since all the wood around here is dead, our options are a little more limited
these days. So instead, we’re going to use something heavy to crush our game.
It’s called a deadfall, and it does exactly what it sounds like; it falls, and
something gets dead. One of the simplest and most versatile deadfalls you can
make is the figure four. It’s very simple to put together and it takes very
little time once you’re familiar with it. All you need is your kill weight, a
strong branch, and something sharp to cut it with.”

Daxin opened his folding knife
and began to notch the three sticks he’d already cut. When he finished, he held
up the pieces, turning to let everyone see. Then he continued his demonstration.
“The pieces go together like this. The notches hold the structure in place
until the little thing comes along and pushes on the trigger piece, here.” He
laid them out and fitted them together to demonstrate how they interlocked.

“I’ll set this up using the rock over here and show you how
it works in a second. In the meantime, I want everyone to look around and find
their own pieces. You’re going to need to set a lot of these traps and keep
checking them every day, so by the time we’re done today I want each of you to
have made two of your own. Your kill weight can be a flat stone like this one,
a heavy log, or anything you can prop up with the figure four. You want the
weight of it to be at least five times the weight of whatever game you’re trying
to take. When you find your pieces, stay where you are and I’ll come around to
help you.” He searched their faces to see if they understood, and found the
average to be satisfactory.

The men dispersed, covering ground as fast as their hungry
eyes would let them. From time to time, Daxin heard the snap of a dry branch or
the thud of a stone as the men picked through the landscape, looking for the
perfect components. In the days since his arrival, they’d worked to deepen the
well at the back of the cave; slow going with only a single pickaxe, but the
men took to it in shifts so there was almost always someone hacking away at it
during the daylight hours. The water was still coming up tainted, so they had
to boil everything they used. But at least they could pull what they needed in
a few minutes, rather than having to dredge it up inch by inch over the course of
a few hours.

The villagers had also shown Daxin the ravine on the far side
of the cave, which was below grade and hidden from view to the south. It was
well-placed to buffer them from the wind, and thus kept them shielded from the storms
that would’ve swept thick clouds of dust into the cave otherwise. The ravine
was also where they harvested most of the wood and other material they used for
cooking and torch-making. Daxin had despaired when he saw the swath of trees
that had been cut whole or pushed over, leaving a graveyard of stumps and
cratered root systems through the ravine.

“You won’t hide yourselves very well if you just come outside
and cut down the closest tree. Anyone who happens to stumble into this canyon is
gonna know someone lives here. If you want to stay out of sight, take your
branches from the standing trees and use the trunks of the ones that have already
fallen. Any experienced ranger is going to find you unless you leave absolutely
no trace, but at least do yourselves the favor of not making it easy for some
half-wit band of wastelanders to figure out you’re here.”

With their water and fuel situations remedied, Daxin had
moved on to showing them the finer points of catching enough food to feed
thirty people without breaking a sweat. They were learning fast, and he was
confident in their ability to rise to the occasion. Hunger was a fine motivator,
if nothing else.

“Okay, gather around here and let me show you how this
works.” Daxin lowered himself onto his hands and knees, taking extra time and
care to mind his ankle in the process. “The bait will go right on the tip of
the trigger here. We set the mechanism like so, to hold up the rock.” Daxin
finished setting the device and grabbed a stick off the ground next to him. Biyo
helped him to his feet.

“So now the little dway comes along, finds the tasty treat
we’ve put there, and—” He touched his stick to the trigger. The joint dislodged
and went spinning end over end. The rock slammed to the dirt and sent up a
spray of dust.

“Wham. You have your game. Or in this case, your stick.”

Two or three of the men clapped. Others grunted their
approval or fidgeted, anxious to try their hand at it.

“Now you’ll want to spread out when you find your deadfalls
and trigger pieces. It doesn’t do us much good to have ten traps right next to
each other. We want to cover as large an area as possible. There are
groundhogs, hares, bushcats, buzzards, sagebirds, lizards, wild dogs, foxes,
rats—”

“And rat-men,” Eivan blurted out, shaking his fists. “I’m
gonna catch me a rat-man.”

There was scattered, uncomfortable laughter among the men.
They were probably used to Eivan’s outbursts, but Daxin was caught off guard.
Eivan was staring at him, wide-eyed, relishing the attention. The half-crazed
look on his face made him appear more ludicrous than frightening. Daxin waited
for the chatter to die down before he responded.

“If you’ve got murrhods around here, then… first of all, I’m
surprised. And secondly, they’re probably not going to be dumb enough to take
your bait. More than likely, they’ll pick up whatever little critter has
already set off your trap and carry it away. Murrhods aren’t animals, you know.
Matter of fact, they’re smarter than a lot of people I’ve met. Present company
excluded, of course.”

Duffy was scrutinizing him. “You’ve seen murrhods above-world
before?”

“Oh no, not out here in the scrubs. The Salt Nomads keep them
as slaves, though. So sure, if you’re the kind of person who spends a lot of
time with nomads, you’ll see murrhods from time to time. Anyway, there’s lots
of other stuff you can catch in the bush. If you want to catch something
bigger, we just scale up our weights and the thickness of our trigger pieces,
and change the bait to suit our game. Simple as that.” Daxin paused again to
let the information sink in, then bade them begin.

As they dispersed again, Daxin let himself down into a seated
position, stretching his injured leg out in front of him. The ankle was
improving, though it was still aching and throbbing constantly. He skewered a
scrap of jerky with the trigger piece, then smeared a dab of honey on the end
before lifting the stone and resetting the mechanism. A trap this size would
yield something the size of a hare or a bushcat.

Biyo had remained nearby since they left the cave that
morning, and he was there to help Daxin to his feet again. Together they made
their way over to the kill weight Biyo had selected.

“If these things work, we’ll be eating better than we have
since we left Unterberg,” Biyo said cheerfully.

“They do work. I’ll have you trapping like nomads and eating
like the Emperor of New Kettering before the week’s done.”

“I’ll be forever grateful if you do. Until now, we’ve eaten
only what was slow enough to catch. There will always be a special place in my
heart for turtle, but a man can only stomach so much of it.”

“That sounds really good right now, actually. I haven’t had
turtle in a long time.”

“That’s because you’ve been busy catching all the fast food
and leaving the turtles for us.”

“That’s all about to change,” said Daxin.

The two men sat down on the log Biyo had designated and
watched the others build their traps. The temperature was rising as the light-star
hoisted itself toward midmorning. Infernal was rising further to the south each
day now as the short year cycle drew nearer.

“Your trap is too close to mine,” Daxin said, after they’d
spent a moment catching their breath. “We need to roll this log away, down the
hill to where those two trees are.”

“And by that, you mean
I
need to roll it,” Biyo said.

“Hey… foot.” Daxin pointed. He couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll
provide moral support.”

“Fair enough. Dick. Now get up so I can push this thing.”

Daxin hopped up and let Biyo have at it. The log made one
full rotation, but the knot on the far end stopped it from rolling any further.
Before long, Biyo decided it would be easier to drag it the rest of the way.
They finished setting Biyo’s trap and plopped down for a drink of water and
another rest.

“So… what do you think of Ellicia?” Biyo asked, as they sat
with their backs against the trunk of a white tree. It was an awkward question,
both in timing and execution; Biyo spoke into the silence as if he’d been anxious
for the chance to bring it up.

“I’m married, is what I think,” Daxin said. Biyo’s probing annoyed
him for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on.

“Oh, didn’t realize. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“She’s really taken a shine to you, you know.”

Good for her
, Daxin wanted to say, but didn’t. A
twinge of something like excitement ran through him, but he pushed it down. “What
are we, in grade school? Whispering about secret crushes and unrequited
feelings?”

“It’s hardly a secret,” said Biyo. “You two are pretty
obvious, actually. To the point of being disgusting.”

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad. All we ever do is talk.”

“For hours and hours.”

“So what? I can barely move. How else am I gonna pass the
time? Half the time I’m talking about my wife, anyway, or she’s dressing my
wounds.”

“Whatever you say, traveler. Just be careful. She’s been
through some stuff.”

Daxin gave no reply.
It doesn’t matter how I feel about her
,
he reminded himself.
Not as long as there’s a chance Vicky’s still out there
somewhere. Love is love, no matter the cost
.

It took the two of them nearly three hours to hobble around
and help each man finish his trap, resting and watering at frequent intervals
along the way. Daxin rode at first, but the pain made the ordeal of mounting
and dismounting too rigorous, so after a short while he contented himself with
walking. Biyo seemed to enjoy harassing him, and he made good use of every
opportunity to remind Daxin that he was a gimp and a cripple.

“So what’s Unterberg like?” Daxin asked him during one of
their lulls. “Never been there myself, though I hear it’s the best place for
trade in the Inner East.”

“Oh, Unterberg is great. Lots going on all the time, lots of
traders coming through. If you can get a place in one of the below-world
quarters, it stays cool most of the long year. Too bad the mayor is such a rich
asshole. You kinda remind me of him, now I think about it. And not the rich
part.”

Daxin resented the comparison, but at least he knew Biyo felt
the same way about Nichel Vantanible that he did. “Yeah, well. Arrogance is the
vinegar that masks the rust of inadequacy, as they say.”

Biyo frowned. “Whatever that means. I think Vantanible just
likes calling himself the mayor because it makes him sound like less of a
dictator.”

“Huh.” Daxin creased his lips. What he said next pained him,
almost like shoving a knife into his own back. “Well, he certainly runs a good
business, and one we all benefit from.”

“Luther, you have to trust me on this one. Nichel Vantanible
may be a genius where his empire is concerned, but when it comes to dealing
with people, he’s an arrogant prick who has all the tact of a punch in the
neck.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Daxin said. “But you’re clearly bitter
about whatever it was that got you sent away.”

“It wasn’t that we got sent away. It was worse than that. We
were about to get arrested, so we left.”

“You’re telling me the merchant company was going to arrest
you and lock you in a cave somewhere?”

“You heard me right, Luther. The mayor has his own little
police force. The dway is ruthless. Sadistic. Corporal punishment, executions,
you name it. Especially when it comes to disloyalty. He’s got no tolerance for
it.”

“Have you ever met a man who does?” Daxin was making every
effort to maintain his ‘
I’m just a neutral bystander
’ routine, but it
was becoming difficult.

“Guess not. Vantanible’s business is the reason Unterberg is
so well-off. We had it really good there.”

“So tell me what happened,” Daxin said, though he already
knew.

“About a year ago, the caravans started getting attacked.
They’ve always gotten attacked a lot, though. But Vantanible’s caravans are
strapped to the gills and well-guarded, so it’s usually no big deal.”

“Yeah, they’ve got the shepherds and all that. Right.” Daxin
thought of his brother again. When Toler had first become a shepherd, he had
promised Daxin he’d continue the search for Victaria, but Daxin soon realized
that was only an excuse. Vicky was long gone, and Toler had never brought home
a trace of news about her after that.

“Anyway, the caravans start going down all of a sudden,” Biyo
was saying. “Like getting hit hard, no survivors. Vantanible has no idea who’s
doing it, so he decides to change the routes, hoping it’ll throw them off.
Meanwhile, we’re starting to have a rough time in town because our creature
comforts are getting scarce. You know how you get used to a certain standard of
living, then when that gets taken away, it’s hard to adjust. I don’t know,
maybe you don’t. Not like we were starving or anything, just didn’t have the
abundance we were used to.