The Tower of Il Serrohe (15 page)

BOOK: The Tower of Il Serrohe
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They moved unlike people. Or was it only a trick of the moonlight? Never mind. She could not waste this opportunity by musing about the graceful stealth of her sisters of Piralltah.


They would provide the diversion.


Yes. Yes.
Teresa heard Pia’s ‘voice’ in her head. They knew her plan without the need for Teresa to review it consciously.


Acting as if warming her hands, Teresa reached into the folds under her waistband and found the little leather scabbard. Unhooking the thong securing her knife, she slid it out carefully, concealing it in the palm of her hand.


At that moment a high-pitched screech tore the silence of night into fragments. What sounded like a fight broke out behind the guards who were watching her. The violence of the encounter caused dirt and fur to fly in a boiling torrent of long-bodied shadows that crashed into those very guards. Since Soreye warriors were leery of being caught in the midst of a berserk confrontation they scattered in a chorus of frantic bells while turning their attention to the fight.


Teresa looked behind her and saw the other guards in the ring coming around both sides to investigate the commotion.


Not knowing how long Pia and Pita could keep up their feigned fight and how long the Soreyes would be distracted, she began sawing the rawhide on her cage with all the strength she could muster. Soon she cut enough cords that she could be out of their grasp in moments.


But this wasn’t the time for it as she was still surrounded by Soreye warriors, distracted or not by a violent fight.


The torrent of fury subsided as quickly as it had started and two gray forms scurried away into the black holes of the night. The guards laughed nervously, exchanged a few uncharacteristic remarks of a lighthearted manner, and returned to their posts. They had no idea what just happened, but they weren’t about to admit it, especially to each other. Within moments, all was quiet again, every man at his duty station.


Teresa slipped her knife back into its scabbard and waited for another chance. What would it be?


She pretended to sleep but the night wore on so long that, in her exhaustion she did, at last, drop off. Then, out of the depths of dreamless sleep, she was awakened by the sounds of Soreyes shouting in the distance.

“‘
Invaders! Invaders!’ they cried. ‘Arm yourselves for an invasion!’


Over and over, the alarms filled the predawn air as confusion and dimly lit lanterns began moving into the narrow winding passageways of the village. The guards stood their ground, but couldn’t help looking toward the voices of the watch guards along the trail up the Il Serrohe cliffs.


As if in a dream, Teresa deftly unwound the rawhide. She looked about nervously, still achy and groggy from sleep. No one was watching. Pulling off the last bit, she stuffed the rawhide coils under her feet.


Then there came shouts of a different note. Nohmin calls! ‘Hey, Hey, Hey!’


At that, the guards abandoned their posts and surged through the passageway to meet the invaders. Other Soreyes swarmed around the cages on their way to meet the invaders as Teresa opened the door of her cage, preparing to dash down a vacant passageway. No one noticed she was out of the cage, but she quickly stepped back inside and waited for this last surge of Soreyes to leave the plaza.


Once they were out, Teresa ran to aid her fellow captives.


With lightning fast strokes she cut the cords of their cages. They all escaped down a passage opposite of the direction of the Soreye surge. Once away from the village, they realized the open plains of the west lie ahead. But could they find another way around to the cliffs and down into the valley from there?


One them whispered hoarsely. ‘There is no known way off this mesa except the way we came! We are still prisoners!’


At that point, a sibilant voice cut in from overhead. ‘Follow one who knows ways the Soreyes could never imagine!’

“‘
The bat!’ several voices cried.


Teresa, looking up, saw a black shape nearly the size of a man but with a wingspan of eight feet. It hovered over them accompanied by the soft slap of leather wings that caused down drafts of warm air.
Whap, whap, whap.

“‘
What is it?’ she asked.

“‘
Large bats live in the swamps of the river. They don’t associate much with the people of the valley, but they can be trusted. If anyone knows a way off this mesa, they will. They fly all over the area at night to feed, not needing the light of the sun to see.’

“‘
But—’

“‘
No time for questions, woman!’ the sibilant voice scolded. ‘You’re dead anyway, so take a chance and follow me. Maybe you’ll live. The people of the Valle know they can trust one like me. Come!’


Nudging her along, the people pushed Teresa forward, trying to keep up with the dark shape leading them from above.


They came to a thicket of willow bushes edging a pond created by a stream that used to spill over the mesa’s western rim before the Soreyes had dammed it up—supplying their water.


Teresa marveled. ‘A stream and a pond up here?’


The bat shape alighted next to Teresa. It was about the height of a twelve-year-old boy but much more slender. In the twilight, Teresa could only make out a face, framed by furry jowls and topped by huge pointed ears. It looked up at her.

“‘
It comes from a spring originating deep in a cave in the center of this mesa,’ the bat explained. ‘Without it, the Soreyes could not survive up here as they do. The old dry streambed plunging down the cliffs a short way to the east—that can be your way out.’

“‘
A waterfall?—’

“‘
It wasn’t quite a waterfall. But it is steep and tricky. It can’t be seen from the floor of the plains below because the old stream went back into a cavern near the bottom of the cliffs, not onto the western plains. Trust me, it’s there.’

“‘
Come on,’ one of her companions urged. ‘We don’t know how much time we have!’


Extending its wings out in front of Teresa, the bat rose above them, causing her hair and dress to whirl about in its wake. He rose, hovering above the group, and guided them southeast, then downward.


It was like racing down a winding staircase that was missing steps in several places. Not paying attention could cause one to tumble to the bottom. Jumping and swinging each other along by hand while suffering cuts and scrapes on hands, arms, and legs, the group clawed its way down, finally reaching the floor of the plains by the gray of dawn.


In that light, Teresa could clearly see the bat. His face was humanlike except for the fur, and he had long thin fangs instead of teeth.


Teresa called out, ‘Who are you?’

“‘
I am called Nightecho by the clanspeople.’


A Nohmin standing near Teresa explained, ‘He is the youngest son of the chief of the bats.’


Without landing, Nightecho said farewell and glided off to the north staying in the shadows of the cliffs as much as possible. The group went around the shorter way to the south and then east into the Valle Abajo. Teresa was very tired, but she managed to keep up.


Upon their return to the Valle, they learned the invasion was nothing more than a handful of brave, but noisy Nohmin who only came halfway up the trail before escaping back down to the Valle. The Soreyes’ system of communication was so effective in quickly getting word to the village above, that the Soreyes confronted only their own watch guards as they raced down from their lookouts in the defense of the village. The Nohmin were good at yelling up the narrow trail whose walls echoed their voices right up to the very edge of the village.


Of course, Pia and Pita had been able to slip up to the village and stage their fight decked out in furs; otherwise, naked as the day they were born. Thus the guards could not recognize them as the curanderas of Piralltah. Teresa looked carefully at her sisters. Yes, they were very graceful in a way that reminded her of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, even here in their own world. Without their full black dresses, they could trick the eye in moonlight.


While the escape had been successful, the problem of the Drowning Plague had not been solved. On top of that, the Soreyes were on the warpath after suffering such an affront as a faked invasion and the impossible escape of Teresa and the other captives.”

 

 

thirty one

 

 


The day they escaped from the Soreyes, everyone returned to their villages and homes except for a dozen or so representatives from Piralltah Steeples, the Nohmin, and the other Valle Abajo clans. A runner was sent to ask the bats if they wished to send one of their kind to meet with the others since the threat of war with the Soreyes seemed unavoidable.


They met in Il Mote, a
Taurimin
village in the center of the valley about a mile from the shore of the river. The visitors stayed on bedrolls spread on the hard dirt floors of a large one story adobe building that served as a gathering place for trading among the clans.


Bright sunshine sent dusty shafts through its east windows on the second morning after the captives’ return. It could have been the start of a most pleasant day, but although exhausted, Teresa had hardly slept.


In spite of widespread enthusiasm over such an escape, she felt that the coming war was all her doing. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t dared to confront the Soreyes without any plan or sufficient power to back up her assertiveness.


Pia and Pita sat on either side of her, pressing up against her which was their way of showing sympathy and support.

“‘
This self-hatred and questioning in circles will change nothing’ Pita said. ‘Would it be better to let people to continue to die without doing anything?’

“‘
But what if it has nothing to do with the Soreyes? Now they want to break a long-held peace because I was so stupid—’

“‘
If they have nothing to do with the plague, then why didn’t it occur before?’ Pita asked. ‘There have been rumors of growing Soreye strength and restlessness for the last three summers. This plague is a way for them to sap our strength, make us fearful, maybe even make us do what we just did: go up there and accuse them of starting it.’

“‘
So I helped the valley play right into their hands. Thanks a lot, I would prefer to go back to my own world and make a mess of things there instead of here.’


Pita looked at Teresa incredulously. ‘What? Are we so helpless, we need
you
to come in and make trouble for us? You are our sister, but your magical powers have proven no greater than our own. Any one of us would have eventually gone up on the cliffs to try what you did. They have some magic we don’t understand to have so easily taken prisoners. But something is going on with which we have no experience and that’s where you come in.’

“‘
Perhaps, but there has to be something I could have done. You have taught me that the power of good can have limited magical power here. In my world, magic is dead; there is no belief in miracles and special powers anymore. Though many in my Rio Grande valley talk of the Devil and his evil power, there are those among the Anglos who don’t even believe in the Devil or in demons. Soon, everything will have to be done by the means of people’s own powers of mental ingenuity. There are fewer people I can cure by the old ways. But here—’

“‘
Exactly. We have a need for your powers. Even though it has been a while, Pia and I have only begun with you. There is much we can teach you, and someday, we know, you will surpass us. You bring something from the other side of the Portal that we don’t have here. A greatness. A massive power.’

“‘
But what? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a girl. According to my parents I’m long past due to be married. There’s little time left for me to do anything; I really must return to my valley. What do you want of me?’ Teresa pleaded.

“‘
If we knew, would we be struggling now? We must search our minds and souls. Try to recapture the powers of the ancient ones. So much has been lost. We don’t have the power to store ideas as you have in your world.’

“‘
Writing! Yes, you marveled at that. We must start to develop a written record. But what of things that are forgotten?’

“‘
Nothing has been forgotten, but understanding has been lost. So many of the old ones of the Valle have these instincts about things no one understands. It’s like songs of the Sianox and the
Corvimin sung
in a tongue no one understands. The song can still be sung but just for the sounds and the music.’

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