The Shasht War (48 page)

"Go on," he mumbled thickly, "I have to get my pack..."

First, however, he bent down and took the young Red Top's sword.

She waited for him at the edge of the bridge, her heart pounding, her limbs trembling. She had done the unimaginable and physically attacked a man! For a woman of Shasht, this was an incredible thing.

Thru rejoined her and they ran, stumbling at times through the snow in the narrow lanes. Luckily for them, the shrill screams of the young Red Top hadn't yet brought much of a response. A few dogs barked while they scrambled through the narrow streets but they were almost out of the village before they finally heard some loud voices, and the first real calls of alarm—loud, prolonged hoots and hollers, didn't come until they were well outside the village and hurrying away up the dark road as fast as they could go.

After covering another mile on a road that was little more than a track paved with flints, Thru found a gap between walls and trees on one side and they pulled themselves up and into deeper snow. Behind them the village had many lights lit, and there was a constant, sustained barking of dogs. To Thru it brought on chilling memories. In the darkness, working with cold fingers, it was difficult to reattach the snowshoes, but in the end they managed and moved off deeper into the forest, heading in an easterly direction.

"Do you think they will chase us?"

"They will try."

"I wish that we had not had to kill them."

"I wish that, too. And I must thank you, Simona, you saved my life. That was very brave of you."

Impulsively she moved to hug him, though her arms could not go around the huge pack on his back. She kissed his bloody lips and drew back, startled for a moment by what she had done. She had never kissed a man, like this, not even her father.

Then Thru turned quickly and put his feet on the trail. The contact had ignited a combustible sea of longing. They had been both physically close and yet alone for too long. The thoughts that came up made him uncomfortable. He forced them out of his mind and concentrated simply on walking over the snow wearing the clumsy snowshoes while carrying a heavy pack.

An hour passed. Thru pushed them on, past simple exhaustion, though with pauses every so often to eat a little more of their precious supply of cheese and hard bread. Then they went on again, still chewing, moving across snow cover that was often several feet deep. Only men with snowshoes could follow them here, and with the falling snow their tracks would soon be buried.

The sound of pursuit had faded away, and they continued to push on across the deep snow, keeping eastward, while Thru searched the gloom for landmarks that he might remember from his days of living in the cave.

They walked for hours, while the sky clouded over, and it grew even darker. It began to snow, gently at first. Eventually Thru called a halt in a rocky gorge where they found an overhang that offered a degree of protection. They pushed some of the snow out of the way and wrapped themselves in their thick hide blankets and fell into an exhausted slumber.

When they awoke it was snowing hard, and they were covered in two to three inches of fresh white powder. Thru got up and did some stretching exercises. Simona didn't move. She found herself shivering so deeply it was hard to move a muscle. A chill went right through her insides. Her legs were numb. She felt like just staying where she was. Why bother? Said a sweet little voice in her ear. Why not just lie here until the end?

But Thru would not let her be. Seeing that she was blue in the face he stopped stretching and crouched down beside her. He called her name. There was no response. He shouted at her and pulled her hair sharply. Still nothing. He slapped her, and she gave a little scream of anger. He pulled her up to a sitting position and rubbed her face forcefully between his hands until she wriggled and put her arms up to stop him. Then he forced her to eat a mouthful of cheese and hard cracker while he rubbed on her hands and feet.

"You are dying, Simona. Your heart is cold. This happens to mots, too, especially if they fall into cold water for too long. We have to get your heart warmed up."

In principle, this sounded fine, but she couldn't imagine how they were going to do it. She could barely chew, hardly swallow.

Thru dragged her to her feet. She could hardly stand without help, her legs were useless, but then he made her dance in place, clumsily lifting one foot after the other with his own feet under them while he held her up. It felt as if her limbs had turned to lead. Her breathing was harsh in her throat as she struggled, and all the while Thru was jerking her arms up and down and whistling in her face.

Blood had dried down his chin and the front of his coat, and in the poor light his face had taken on a fiendish appearance. She wondered if she had already died and this was all some elaborate dumb show that the demons performed before they took you off to hell.

On and on it went, and she was dancing like a trained bear, and all the time he kept exhorting her in a harsh voice to "Lift your feet, lift your feet, breathe hard, blow it out, lift your feet."

And slowly, terribly slowly, feeling returned to her limbs, accompanied by a bout of pins and needles that made her twitch and scratch at her legs, though it did no good.

Thru never let her stop, not until the glassy look was finally gone from her eyes, and then he sat her down and fed her more cheese and hard flat bread. The terrible sense of cold in the pit of her stomach had faded, and she realized that she'd come perilously close to death.

"I'm sorry I had to hurt you Simona."

"Oh, Thru, I almost died."

"It is dangerous to be out in this kind of cold. We have to keep moving. Find the cave. Then we can keep warm enough to survive."

Thru cleared the snow out of their little space, and they tied on their snowshoes once more, took up their heavy packs, and went on, moving through a silent landscape filled with whirling snow.

Dawn found them several miles into the central hills and well past the last signs of human civilization. Thru thought he heard wolves howl to the south, but in the muffled conditions of heavy snowfall, the sound was too faint for him to be sure. He hoped they'd kept to their westerly course, but there was no way to be sure. And then off to the right of their line of motion he recognized a certain hilltop. It had a curious kind of tip, almost like a hook, and he had, indeed, called this place "Hook Hill." He gave a shout and jumped up and down in jubilation.

"What is it?"

"There, you see that hill with the sharp rock at the top? The cave is close by it."

Simona saw the distant hill and swallowed hard. It was several miles farther on. But she told herself, at least they now had their destination in view.

They broke for more hurried mouthfuls of food. Then they pushed on, struggling through the fresh snow as they climbed up the valley and into the hills. It was an arduous trek. Even with snowshoes the loose snow was hard to negotiate in places, but after several hours they were right beneath the hill with the hooked tip.

And now, at last Thru could point to a long streak of grey rock that outcropped all along the base of the hooked hill.

"The cave is at the far end of that outcrop. We will be there soon."

They went along the rock ledge, the snow had not drifted here, and progress was easy. The dead tree still lay against the cliff face, and past it they found the narrow little cave.

Thru drew the sword in case there was a bear, but the cave was empty, nothing had lived there since he'd left it. The remains of the brush he'd dragged in to make a bed for himself were still there.

The narrow space was crowded for the two of them, but Thru took out the ox hide he'd brought from Beegamuus and wedged it over the entrance and held it in place with a pair of branches broken off the dead pine.

They placed their packs at the front of the cave and lay down under their blankets, huddled together for warmth. Time passed, Simona realized that she was getting warm under the covers, the first warmth her body had felt since they had left Beegamuus.

"Oh, Thru, you were right, I can feel a little warmth."

"This is a good cave. I'm surprised that it's still empty. In my land it would be home to a bear."

"Oh, Thru, I don't think there are any bears left in Shasht. They were all killed long ago."

"We can live here, then. And they will not find us."

"But we don't have enough food for the whole winter."

"Thru will hunt. We will live."

But even Thru knew that this was extremely optimistic.

In the pyramid of the Great God, Basth brought tea to the Master. He found the Old One studying the curious rug that had been brought in earlier that day by a party of high-ranking Gold Tops. Lifelike chickens danced among a group of huge, ominous beetles. The work was exquisitely rendered for a weave.

The Old One was idly running his hand across the surface of the mat, apparently enjoying its texture.

"Tea, Master," said Basth, setting down the tray.

"This work, Basth, what do you think of it?"

Basth handed him the golden cup of tea. He had grown used to being asked questions like this. Always he answered truthfully, straight from the heart.

"It is remarkable, Master. I have never seen anything quite like it. The chickens are so lifelike."

"And yet so comic. Whoever wove it had a sense of humor, eh?"

"Yes, Master."

The Old One had another piece of weave spread on the table. Basth saw a row of soldier's heads, faces etched in a terrifying snarl beneath steel helmets. The Master lifted this piece so Basth could see it clearly. The strange, ancient eyes were studying him.

"The weaver has seen something of the edge of war, eh?"

"Yes, Master."

"Almost a pity that we have to kill them all."

"Twenty-eight days, Simona."

"I never dreamed that I might die in a place like this," she said, her voice hollow with hunger.

Thru had pulled part of the ox hide aside so they could peer outside. Snow had fallen all night. Now the landscape was sparkling under the newly revealed sun.

"It is beautiful," said Thru, maintaining perfect kyo of "acceptance."

Accept all things that come...
Besides, what choice do you have, exactly?

He had been meditating a great deal during the last few weeks as their food ran out and starvation took hold. Death was only another interlude in the life of the spirit. He knew this.

There is beauty in all things:
Even the rose that is withered on the vine,
No two are ever alike.

"Twenty-eight days, Thru. I bet they didn't think we could live this long."

"Look, do you see them?" He pointed suddenly through the gap.

As usual she saw only the white mountains, the dark masses of forest in the valleys.

"No."

"The wolves are there again: four adults, two youngsters."

She looked again, but saw nothing. Thru's vision was far more acute than hers.

"Do they know we are here?"

"Oh, yes. Remember when someone cleaned off my trapline two weeks ago?"

She nodded.

"It was them. But they haven't come back. They prefer to chase the deer."

He followed the tiny dots as they crested a small hill and disappeared, seeking deer that might have been trapped in deeply drifted snow.

"Will you try and hunt today?"

Thru shook his head.

"We still have some of the rabbit from yesterday."

And that was all they had. All their other supplies had run out days before. They had salt and some dried herbs, and that was it. Thru had set traps, and had produced a meager haul, a few rabbits. He had put out smaller traps and caught mice. He hunted with the bow and took a few more rabbits and coneys, but they were in limited supply on this mountain.

Simona had found that starvation was all it took for her to shed her disinclination to eat mice. Thru skinned and cleaned them, then rubbed them with herbs and salt and roasted them on sticks across hot coals. The bones were tiny, and you had to be careful not to swallow them. The meat tasted like chicken, but there wasn't very much of it. Two mice did no more than stimulate her hunger.

And that was their problem. They could not find enough food to sustain their weight. They could keep warm. The cave was small enough to warm up just from the heat of their bodies, particularly when they had the ox hide pressed tightly against the opening. The narrow space remained above freezing, no matter how cold it was outside. Lying under the blankets, huddled together for warmth, they had survived. To conserve their strength, they spent much of the time simply drifting in and out of sleep. But they could not find enough food to survive much longer.

During these long days in semidarkness, Thru usually meditated. He had tried to encourage Simona to meditate, too, but she had not found a way of calming her inner voices. She could not settle herself and simply stop thinking. Her brain raced instead of slowing, and after a while she gave up and just sat there stewing in her thoughts; worrying about her father, worrying about Aunt Piggili and Shalee and the zob.

She always marveled at the stillness he achieved, sitting there bare-chested on a pad made from his overcoat. Sometimes he would be frosted with moonlight there, and she imagined that he was a statue, carved in stone.

And yet, his peaceful purpose usually affected her after a while by some mysterious process, and she would get under the blankets and think of her happy days of childhood, and be liberated for a while from her fears about the present.

However, the grim truth remained. Day by day, they were indeed starving and that could not go on for very long.

"I wanted to go back," he said once. "I would tell the Assenzi what I have seen."

"Oh, we will go back. I know we will, Thru."

But she knew she was lying. They would never leave this place. Their bones would eventually be found by the shepherds.