The Tower of Bashan (36 page)

“I agree,” said Andrasta.

“You would,” said Rondel.

“Well, you did tell me that story about Tertulias.” She paused. “You know, maybe another part of the problem is that you keep dismissing the flute as a lesser instrument because by doing so, you’ve already set it up to take the blame for any of your failures.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? Are you telling me you haven’t wondered if even for a moment whether you could still cut it as a minstrel if you had all your fingers back?” asked Andrasta.

“That’s a moot point because I don’t have my fingers back. All I have are cheap pieces of leather.” He wiggled the covered fingers on his left hand, illustrating his point.

“And with the flute, that’s all you seem to need.”

Rondel scowled. “I am not afraid of failing.”

“Well, then we’re in trouble because I don’t have anything else for how to get us out of here. Do you?”

“Just leave me alone and give me time to think,” said Rondel as he spun away.

“Sure. I’ll just sit here and think about all I’ve gone through to get to this point only to fail because my partner can’t admit he’s got self-doubt.”

Rondel bunched his shoulders but chose not to respond as he took a few steps toward the flute.
It’s not that I can’t admit I’ve got self-doubt. By the gods, I doubted myself most of my life.
He bent over and picked up the flute.
Except with music. I never doubted my ability to make music. Both the lute and singing came so naturally to me.
He grunted.
The one thing I inherited from my mother was her voice.

He rolled the flute in his hand, examining the symbols once more. “
Play it loud and play it true.” That idiotic phrase again. Some magic. Could there be anything less extraordinary?
In fact, he wondered if there was anything exceptional about the instrument at all except the silver it was made of.

But is there anything exceptional about any instrument by itself?

He thought back to Tertulias.

His hands gripped the flute tightly.

Over his shoulder, he heard Andrasta cursing to herself as she studied the statue. Lela stood nearby, trying to keep her calm.

This is my chance to erase my failure at the contest. When else will I ever have the chance to play something so important? This is it, Rondel. Get your act together and do it.

He took a deep breath, spun on his heels and sat on the floor just beneath the Dikira statue.

“What are you doing?” asked Andrasta.

“Getting us out of here.”

“How?”

“By making music,” he said scanning the notes on the wall again. He had already memorized them earlier, but he saw them differently this time.

When did I ever play something exactly as it was written? Even the simplest of children’s songs I put my own touch on. Why shouldn’t I do the same now?

“Are you sure?” Andrasta asked.

Rondel closed his eyes, brought the mouthpiece to his lips, and played.

As before, stone scraping on stone sounded after the first four notes. Yet, Rondel did not die on the fifth, sixth, or even the seventh. For the briefest of moments he thought about opening his eyes and seeing what the statue was doing, but that thought came and went as he lost himself in the song. His fingers danced across the flute as if he fretted the neck of his old lute. His breathing remained steady, not forceful as he inhaled and exhaled.

A part of him knew thousands of people in the world were more technically sound with a flute than he would likely ever be. However, within that moment, he also knew that not one of them could draw as much passion from each note as he could. Satisfaction that he hadn’t felt in years washed over him as he finished the song in a flurry.

I missed this so much.

Hands fell on his shoulders when he finished, one small, one large. He opened his eyes and looked up at Lela on one side and Andrasta on the other. They stared ahead, amazed.

The statue of Dikira had moved back into place over the doorway, its legs no longer barring the way. The six arms that had once carried weapons of war were empty. The angry face returned to one of peace. Water trickled from the corners of the closed eyes. A smile that had been absent when they first entered the room tugged at the corners of the statue’s lips.

“All this time I wondered if you just enjoyed boasting, if you inflated everything you had once been,” began Andrasta. Her voice was far away. “But now I realize you were being modest.”

He grinned. “Thank you.”

She looked back at the statue, and shook her head in disbelief.

Little arms wrapped around Rondel’s neck, startling him. “What’s that for?” he asked.

“It was beautiful,” she said. “It reminded me of Kunal. Thank you.”

He patted her back and smiled. “You’re welcome. Thank you for pushing me.”

Andrasta cleared her throat. She began gathering their packs. “Let’s get going. We’re not done yet.”

CHAPTER 32

Mira cried hard for several minutes after returning to the carriage. She cried from sadness over Minander, frustration over Lela, helplessness over Brahma, and anger over Beladeva.

The tears of anger came the quickest and lasted the longest. She decided that she could handle everything else over the last several hours, but she would not let Beladeva get away with causing so much destruction to not only herself, but to Bashan.

I owe Father that much.

She had known the crime lord held a great deal of power. Even during her father’s reign, his name held weight among the commoners. She always wondered why her father never focused on stopping Beladeva and the other crime lords. However, once she found herself in the same position too many other matters took precedence. Beladeva became an afterthought.

He had to be planning this for years. And that’s why he’s able to adjust so quickly to these setbacks.
Good thing I’m a fast learner. And unlike my brother, I can be very patient.

She would play his game as best as she could without drawing suspicion.

And carefully I will find my allies
.

She thought of Brahma.
No. For all I know that beating might have killed him.
She dug her nails into her palms.
He deserved so much better.

Brahma’s sons might be the way to go. Much younger and with many of the same values. And of course they would love nothing better than to exact revenge on the man who abused their father.

I will start with them. Carefully though,
she thought. Lela’s betrayal reiterated the point that she could fully trust no one but herself. Already thoughts of how she would repay Lela, Rondel and Andrasta for their deceptions tickled the back of her mind.

But Beladeva comes first.

CHAPTER 33

Andrasta walked through the doorway beneath the statue of Dikira. She expected it to attack again at any moment. Instead, it continued to leak tears.

She had never considered herself a lover of music, but then again she had never quite heard anything like what Rondel had played. It was like he had not only exposed himself, but also emphasized hidden feelings of her own.

She didn’t like that. It made her think about her true intentions for the jewel.

What will Rondel say? All that we sacrificed and he’ll have nothing to show.
She heard the faint scuffling of Lela’s feet behind her.
For that matter, what will the girl say? Money from her take on the jewel is all she has left.
Andrasta hoped she could find a way to tell them the truth when it was all over.

Or do I just run away? It would be the easiest thing to do.

She entered a bright room of white marble, immediately assaulted by an odor reminiscent of a stable that hasn’t been cleaned in years. Light seemed to come from everywhere, but shielding her eyes, she realized it originated from four crystal chandeliers hanging over the center of the large chamber.

A small gasp came from her left. Andrasta followed Lela’s line of sight.

On a raised marble throne sat a gray-skinned, rotund, humanoid creature. It held a mix of odd features—ears of an elephant, mouth like a hippopotamus, and the horns of a rhinoceros. Deep-black eyes that shined like polished onyx regarded them.

It took everything Andrasta had to suppress the chill running down her spine.

“Well, that’s not something you see every day,” gulped Rondel from behind. “Any day really.”

“What is it?” whispered Andrasta.

“The last guardian, I presume.”

“I thought there would be a transition space like the others,” said Lela.

“I guess not,” said Rondel.

“What’s the clue to get past it?”

“
‘Stay focused and think clearly, lest you die.’
So, how about you stay focused and think clearly by walking up to that thing, and cut its heart out lest we die first?”

Andrasta spun her blade. “That’s an idea I can get behind.”

“Stop,” said a deep baritone.

The single word shook Andrasta’s bowels.

“It can talk,” gasped Lela. Fear tickled her voice.

“Put your weapons away. My name is Yendoru, and I don’t wish to fight.”

Rondel snorted. “Sure you don’t.”

“Why is that so hard to believe? My bones ache, and even standing is a chore.”

“So you aren’t going to stop us?” asked Andrasta. She lowered her blade, but did not sheathe it.

“Not physically.”

“Not much of a guardian,” mumbled Lela.

The thing chuckled. “Not by your definition.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that to get past this guardian we’ll need to out think it on some level,” answered Rondel.

Andrasta slowly sheathed her sword, then with a quick jerk, drew a dagger and threw it across the room. It bounced off an invisible barrier around the throne.

Yendoru chuckled again.

“What was that for?” asked Rondel.

“Just wanted to make sure.”

“And now are you satisfied?” the creature inquired.

Andrasta said nothing, but led the way slowly toward the throne, careful where she stepped. She thought it safe to assume that every action, no matter how small, could be a way to lose against the creature. They stopped two dozen feet away from the monstrosity.

And I thought the beetles smelled bad.

Yendoru grunted. “Cautious. That’s good. You may fare better than the only other to make it this far.”

“What other?” asked Andrasta.

Yendoru turned its head slowly toward a side wall. She followed its gaze to a body slumped on the floor. The hilts of two daggers protruded from its eyes.

“He was the last of the group. I’m sure you saw his handiwork along the way. He took his own life in the end.”

“Why?”

“I presume the guilt of his actions got the better of him. Greed is a heavy sin to bear. Fitting he died in the same manner as those he betrayed.”

“And what role did you have in him facing that guilt?” asked Rondel.

“I may have said a choice word or two.”

Rondel clicked his tongue. “Now, I get it. You don’t really stop us from going forward. You try to make us stop ourselves.”

Yendoru bobbed its head. “Very astute.”

Andrasta eyed the skeleton with daggers rammed into each of its eye sockets. She had a hard time believing anyone could be made to do that to themselves. She snorted.

“Please. Laugh. But deep down you all wish you were dead,” said Yendoru. “Every creature does if for no other reason than to escape this miserable life and leave their guilt of past mistakes behind. Don’t act like none of you have ever thought about ending it all yourselves. Even the little girl has thought such things, recently in fact.”

“How can you know that?” whispered Lela.

The creature’s eyes gleamed. “Because I can see into your soul. I can see the selfish girl who got her uncle killed by trying to juggle too many powerful people.”

Lela crumbled to the floor, folding into a ball. She began sobbing uncontrollably.

“That was far too easy,” said Yendoru.

“Leave her alone!” shouted Rondel.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be the last to die. How about you? I can see the cocky young minstrel who never showed his mother the appreciation she deserved.” The thing tsked. “Making her put up with all your wild ways, then leaving her saddled with your debt. You can’t imagine how hard it was for her to run that big farm entirely by herself. Such a good son, weren’t you?”

Rondel opened and closed his mouth. He said nothing in response, but quickly swiped at his eyes.