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Authors: Nicholas Anderson

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BOOK: The Silent Isle
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Paul, lying on
his stomach, could see nothing of his brother’s progress until he saw the hint
of his face appear behind a mask of yellow grass above the gate.  He
stifled a laugh when Rawl stuck his hand through and waved.  He felt like
he was watching a kid who had become bored playing hide-and-seek and wanted to
be found to show off his hiding place.  Paul had loaded his bow’s magazine
when they first bunkered down in front of the gate, but he checked it again
now.  He turned to Elias.  “Do you know how to write, sir?” 

Elias nodded.

“Then promise me
when you get home you’ll write down what I’m about to do and make sure every
girl for a hundred miles gets a chance to read it.  And tell them it’s
perfectly natural to cry over it.”

Elias took up
his spear, patted Paul on the shoulder, and disappeared into the bushes on his
right.  Paul pumped his bow and watched as the string drew back and the
first bolt dropped out of the magazine into the firing slot.  He took a
deep breath.  Then, holding his bow in one hand and shoving himself off the
earth with the other, he sprang to his feet.  He was careful not to
shout.  The
shriken
might have poor ears but there was no telling
how his battle cry might carry in their tunnels.  He fired and reloaded
even as he charged out of his cover. 

If Paul was
proud of his restraint to kill in relative silence, he was horrified by the
silent efficiency of the
shriken
.  He had hoped they would all
converge upon him at once, forcing them into a narrow field of fire he could
shoot into without even having to aim.  Instead, with no verbal command
given, they fanned out, some going left, others right, and a few down the
center.  In his first rush he had downed two before they were aware of
him.  He hit a third as it came straight at him.  From the corner of
his eye, he saw one go down out on his left flank and he knew Rawl had done
it.  But no more help could come from Rawl.  Rawl had a single-shot
bow and before he’d have time to reload, the
shriken
would have taken
care of Paul.  A flash of black came at Paul from the right and would have
blindsided him had not Elias jumped from the bushes into its path. 
Swinging his spear like a club, Elias smote the creature to the ground,
then
finished it with a thrust of the spear’s blade. 
The sixth
shriken
broke off its charge at Paul and turned for the
gate.  With a shout, Rawl jumped down from above into its path.  The
shriken
swerved and struck with its sickle at the same moment.  Rawl deflected the
sickle with the arm of his bow and knocked the creature off balance.  The
creature dropped its weapons, stumbled, but hardly broke stride.  It was
already around Rawl.  Rawl threw his bow and struck the creature in the
back, knocking it to the ground.  He leapt after it and caught hold of its
foot.  The other foot kicked out at him, the claws tearing his
cheek.  He tightened his grip on the foot and rolled his body over,
pinning the creature beneath him.  Releasing the foot and grappling with
the creature with one hand, he drew his knife with the other and drove it down repeatedly
between the creature’s ribs.  He brought his arm up to shield his eyes
from the dying snap of the beak. 

Rawl had just
gotten to his knees when a seventh
shriken
emerged from the door. 
Rawl recognized its movements but had no time to dodge.  The creature
sprang into the open, cocked its arm back behind its head, then the arm snapped
forward with the speed of a striking snake, hurling a heavy dart.  In the
split second it took to complete the action, Rawl had not moved
,
his arms hung at his sides, his chest a naked target ready
to receive the missile.  But the blow never came.  Something slammed
into Rawl from the side, knocking him down and out of the way.  He heard a
sharp cry and even as he rolled from the impact he saw the creature turn and dart
back through the doorway. 

Rawl did not get
to his feet.  He crawled on hands and knees to his brother’s side. 
Even as he did, Elias raced past him and disappeared into the tunnel. 
Paul lay on his back.  The shaft of the stubby javelin-like dart protruded
from his shoulder.  Rawl placed his hand against the warm red spot
spreading over his brother’s shirt.  “That was meant for me,” he said.

“I’m the
firstborn,” Paul said hoarsely.  “Wait your turn.”

Elias emerged
from the tunnel, limping and breathless, to stand beside them.  “Rawl,
now,” he said. 

Rawl looked up
at him.  “But Paul needs us.”

“We’ll do
everything we can for him,” Elias said.  “But we have to collapse the
tunnel first.  That last one got away.”

They dragged
Paul beside the doors and propped him up there against the mound.  Rawl
tore off his sleeve at the seam.  He bundled the cloth around the shaft
and, taking Paul’s good hand in his, pressed it against the bandage. 
“Keep it there; I’ll be right back.”

Paul nodded.

Rawl darted back
to their hiding place, where Elias was already struggling against the weight of
two of the kegs.  Rawl picked up the final keg and took another from
Elias.  “Grab the match and the fuses,” he called over his shoulder as he
ran for the cave.

Once inside the
cave, Rawl let Elias catch up and pass him.  He knew Elias didn’t know any
more than he did about explosives, but he respected Elias as the wiser and more
experienced man and wanted him to be the one to choose the place where they set
their charges.

Elias hobbled
down the tunnel.  From far in front of him he could hear the
shriken
screaming.  Down here under the earth it sounded ten times more frightful
than it had when facing them beneath the sun.  He had asked Dane to repeat
his vision of the cave entrance time and time again, closing his eyes while he
listened and trying to visualize the place.  Finally he reached what he
had been looking for.  The tunnel narrowed until he found it too
cumbersome to carry the keg at his side.  Rawl, holding a keg by the strap
against each leg, was obliged to walk sideways with one keg in front of him and
the other behind in order to move through the tight space.  Elias moved a
little further in and, even though it was nearly pitch black here, he sensed
the ceiling was not far above his head.  “Here,” he said to Rawl as he
stopped. 

They set two of
the kegs side by side on the floor and stacked the other on top of them. 
Rawl pried the lid off the top barrel with his knife.  “Where’s the
fuses?” he asked, turning to Elias. 

“Thank you for
your help, Rawl,” the priest said.  “Go and tend to your brother.”

Rawl studied his
face in the little glow of the slow match Elias held in his hand.  “We
don’t have time for this.  Give me the fuses.”

“You’re right,
Rawl.  There is no time, not even to lay the fuses.”

The screams of
the
shriken
were a chorus now, swelling up towards them from the tunnels
and halls below.

Rawl began to
back away but then stopped.  Elias could sense him only by the sounds of
his movement and breathing.  “I thank you, Rawl, for all you’ve done for
me.  But this is something I must do alone. 
Something
priestly.”
 

Rawl did not
move. 

“Your brother is
waiting.”

Elias heard
Rawl’s boots scrape against the floor as he turned and then the sound of
rapidly receding footsteps. 
That’s it, Rawl
, he thought,
Run
towards the light

Had not Dane asked him to shepherd these
men?  What better way than this?

Elias looked at
the smoldering knot of rope and bark in his hand.  He thought about the
power of the light. 
Power to blow the world to pieces
and build it anew.
 
Power to consume the world in
flame and rebirth it afresh.
  He realized he had been wrong. 
Oh,
what a blessed mercy to be wrong.
  The way to save the world was not
to draw the darkness into
yourself
but to let yourself
be drawn into the light.  And Elias Wick, the cripple who wrestled with
the gods, reflected on his life and saw it had been blessed, but knew the
greatest adventure lay yet before him.

He heard the
patter and scrape of their running feet.  He waited till he could see
their beady eyes, luminous in the spark in his hand or from generations of
living without the dominion of the sun.  And he felt almost sorry for
them, these creatures of an inferior fire.

Then he touched
the glowing stub of the slow match to the dirty-snow face of the powder. 
There was a searing flash of white and Elias Wick entered into glory.

***

Mirela and Josie
scoured the entire top of the mound, searching for any opening in the rocks
through which the
shriken
could escape the caves.  They worked
methodically.  Starting at the streambed, they worked their way southward,
walking about five paces apart.  When they came to the end just above the
gate they shifted 10 paces over or so and headed back towards the
streambed.  They continued this back and forth movement like workers
plowing or sowing a field until they’d swept the entire southern half. 
Then they did the northern half.  They worked together, not knowing if
there were enemy lookouts on the surface.  The mound was covered in scrub
brush and lumpy, jagged rocks.  Every time they found a vent, they tied a
piece of red cloth to one of the nearby bushes or trees. 

They placed the
charges in the fissures as they found them, wedging them against the sides or
laying them on shelves in the rock just below the surface, always sure to leave
the wicks exposed and within reach. 

They had only
two spare charges when they finished canvassing the northern end.  As they
were walking back towards the streambed, what felt like a small earthquake
shook the ground beneath their
feet.
  A few
seconds later came a rumble like distant thunder.  “That’ll be the gate,”
Mirela said. 

She handed one
of the slow matches to Josie.  They knew everything depended on
speed.  “I’ll take the other side,” Josie said. 

“I’ll find you
when I’m done,” Mirela said. 

“Good luck,”
Josie called over her shoulder as she started towards her area. 

Mirela had
already turned and was running the other way.

Josie knew she
had seven charges to ignite.  She had tried to keep a mental map of where
they each were.  The first fissure was just past the streambed, near the
center of the mound.  She had wedged the charge in a small crack that ran
along the length of it.  She had to lie on her stomach and hold the slow
match at its tip to reach the wick.  She had never worked with blasting
powder before and she found herself a little timid now in the act of lighting
it.  She dangled the smoldering tip of the slow match near the fuse,
almost touching them and then twitching it away.  Finally, realizing her
ginger treatment wasn’t getting
anywhere,
she touched
the match to the fuse and held it there.  With a flare of sparks and a
sizzle, the wick took.  Josie jerked her hand away but stared at the fuse
for a split second, surprised at how quickly it burned.  It was half gone
before she got her arm out of the hole.  Covering her ears, she rolled
sideways away from the hole.  As she rolled, she pinned the slow match
against her neck and it burned her skin.  There was a loud noise and the
earth hiccupped under her.  Stones the size of her fists rained down
around her. 

Getting to her
feet, she checked that the slow match had not gone out and that the charge had
buried the vent.  Grimly pleased, she ran to the next hole.

The next three
charges went without a hitch.  Only three left. 

Josie worked her
way westward, collapsing the vents in roughly the order they’d been
discovered.  When she blew the fourth hole, she knew the fifth lay
somewhere west and slightly north of it.  She guessed the angle and tried
to cut there directly on the diagonal.  She went too far and stopped when
she realized she did not recognize any of the features around her.  She
ran in a desperate circle, trying to locate the hole without success.  She
paused to catch her breath but found her nerves only made her breathe faster in
her inactivity.  From the north, she heard the dull
whump
of an
explosion.  She wondered if it was Dane and Bailus or Mirela. 
Setting down her bow, she clambered up on a rock.  Shading her hand with
her eyes and turning in slow circles, she caught sight of movement not ten
paces away.  The red cloth fluttered from the upper branches of a
thornbush.  But that was not the movement she had seen.  From the
ground a stride from the thornbush, the crack-like opening seemed to leer at
her.  And from its mouth, a
shriken
was rising up. 

Sliding down
from the rock, Josie took the direct path through the bushes, pump-loading her
bow as she ran.  The
shriken
, its body still half in the hole,
barely had time to recognize what it was seeing before Josie sank two bolts in
its chest.  Josie knelt by the body and peered into the hole.  The
thing’s body was covering the charge.  Taking hold of its arms, she tried
to step back and pull it from the hole.  The
shriken
, who had
fallen a little further into the hole when Josie shot it, would not
budge.  Squatting over the figure, Josie took hold of the arms just below
the shoulders and surged upward.  She was not tall enough to pull the
creature free, but she got the bulk of its body out of the hole and let it fall
to the side.  As she stretched to light the fuse, she saw a pair of eyes
surging up towards her from below.  The fuse did not want to light. 
Finally it spluttered lazily to life and Josie pulled her hand back just as the
creature reached out to grab her wrist.  Josie rolled away from the hole,
ending up on her stomach with her hands and arms covering her head.  She
waited for the bang, but nothing happened.  Peeking around her arm, Josie
saw the second
shriken
half out of the hole and struggling to get around
the legs of the first.  It screamed at her.  Josie reached and kicked
herself towards her crossbow, which lay several feet away.  The
shriken
surged up from the hole, one arm outstretched towards her.  There was a
deafening bang and Josie was knocked on her side.  Something sliced her
cheek as it sang past.  The top half of the
shriken’s
body shot out
of the hole like a cork from a bottle and landed twenty feet away. 

BOOK: The Silent Isle
10.06Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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