The Echidna's Scale (Alchemy's Apprentice) (15 page)

“If the mule looked happy about sleeping with you I might consider it,” Pesino retorted, “but the poor animal doesn’t seem excited at all, so I think I’ll pass.”

The driver had a stunned look on his face from the unexpected retort, and he appeared ready to take offense, when Cassius spoke up.  “But then again, the mule wouldn’t talk back as much as the girl, would she?” he asked.

All those who heard the exchange laughed, and the traders moved on past Marco’s group without incident.

That night all four members of the group were exhausted from their first full day climbing the mountain range’s southern flank.  They’d risen over two thousand feet in elevation, and the condition of the road had quickly altered to become less of a road and more of a wide, steep path.  Marco understood why they’d seen no wagons or carriages attempting the journey.  In the dwindling light of the sunset, the path rounded a curving out-thrust of the mountain, and they stopped to look out over the vast, panoramic view that was bathed in the rosy light before them.

“It’s beautiful,” Pesino said rapturously.  “Don’t you think so, Cassius?” she asked.  “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in the seawaters.”

“It’s glorious,” Cassius agreed, “but I’d still prefer to swim among the waters of the reefs of Korim to see unmatchable beauty.”

They continued on up further into the mountains, and then as full darkness descended, they followed a narrow side path up an adjoining canyon and stopped for the night.

Marco started a small camp fire mostly for the illumination and comfort it provided, while the others sat around in fatigued exhaustion and quietly ate small amounts of their food supplies.  He told Kate to take the first watch, while he took the second shift and allowed Cassius to have the last watch of the evening.

They all rolled their blankets out and quickly laid down on the ground to sleep, not bothering to raise the tent under the clear evening sky.  Marco immediately fell asleep, almost as tired as the others, and his mind quickly began to delve into dreams, images and actions and impossible situations, that puzzled him and made his sleep ineffective at restoring his energy.

He dreamed of Pesino, talking to a bull, using her seductive tones and looks as she spoke to the creature, and then he dreamt of Kate swimming in the ocean with Cassius.  The images came and went from his awareness as he slept, until he felt a hand holding his hand, and he realized it was Kate trying to awaken him.

“Marco, you’re moaning, and your hand was pressed against your head like you were in pain,” the girl told him as she squeezed his golden fingers.

He sat up and looked at her, then looked up at the stars.  “Such strange dreams,” he muttered as he tried to shake them off and come to his senses.

“It looks like it’s late,” he finally said after staring up at the positions of the stars for several seconds.  “Why don’t you take my place here and go to bed, and I’ll start my watch shift,” he suggested, an idea that she gratefully accepted as she crawled into the blankets already warm with his body heat.  The rest of the night passed without incident, and they moved back to the trail the next day.

The road continued to climb as they walked along over the next week, and the air grew thinner.  The trees that had glowed with leaves holding golden, red, and purple hues faded to brown, brittle leaves at the higher elevation, and then the branches grew increasingly bare as they rose higher and higher and compressed autumn into a short span of days on the way to wintery weather in the mountain heights above.  Although all four of the members of the crew grew stronger, they still stopped to catch their breath and watched as other veterans of the trail passed them by.  Those who passed them grew fewer and fewer with every day, so that Marco came to worriedly conclude that his group was going to be the last one to try to climb over the crest of the mountain range before the winter snows closed it completely.  And he continued to experience dreams every night.

“According to the last group of traders who passed us, when the rocks around us turn red and gray, it means that we’re going to see the high ridgeline to the north,” Marco reminded the group.

“You mean we haven’t reached the top yet?” Pesino cried in mock despair.

The next day they saw the highest point they were destined to face.  Far ahead of them they saw that a saddle between two snow-topped peaks was marked by the thin, light line of the path ahead of them, upon which they watched a few dark shapes slowly move.  “That’s where we reach the highest point, and then start heading down on the north side of the mountains towards Boheme,” Marco pointed out.

He was tired; the air was thin, affecting them all, and the trail was rugged day after day.  Worst of all were the dreams that interrupted and disturbed his sleep every night.  Having to awaken for watch shifts was bad, but sleeping restlessly because of dreams was worse.  For three nights in a row he dreamed of a cave, in which he saw his three companions bound with ropes and lying on a dirt floor, within view of a dozen men who sat around a camp fire and plotted terrible acts to carry out on his friends.  He watched as a raccoon appeared suddenly in the back of the dream cave, then ran for shelter away from the men who cursed and threw burning sticks at it, working its way out of a small secondary entrance to the cave, and scampering away into the mountain wilderness.

The night before they expected to cross the ridge they stopped and slept in a small, steep-sided ravine.   Marco had the last shift of the watch, the turn before dawn, and he sat and looked at the dimly glowing embers of their small fire, trying to shake off the sense of foreboding that his recurring dreams had inflicted upon him.

He heard a snap of a twig behind him, and he whirled around to look into the darkness, trying to penetrate the black canyon’s depth, but had no luck.  He drew his sword, and cautiously walked in the direction of the sound, then stopped after two dozen yards and listened.  There was no sound, and there was no evidence of anything amiss as he stood in the frigid air, ready to return to where he could wrap himself in his blanket once again.

His eyes jumped up as a bright light flashed before him on the side of the ravine.  He cautiously scrambled up the steep incline of dirt and stone, trying to get closer to the light.  One hand held the sword, while the other hand’s fingers were stiff and cold, so that he progressed slowly.  He was halfway up the cliff-like wall when he heard a pair of shouts from his friends, and he stopped frozen in place, berating himself for leaving them unguarded.

As he started to try to climb back down the cliff he heard sounds approaching, and saw a very dim light bobbing towards him.

There were low voices speaking, speaking harshly.

“Shut up, don’t make any noise, and stay up with the one in front of you,” he heard a man’s voice say, and he heard a woman, possibly Kate, give a muffled sob.

Marco’s anger welled up – anger at the hostage-takers and anger at himself.  He raised the sword over his head and prepared to jump from his spot on the cliff so that he could land among the men below who had ambushed his group.  With the magic of the sword he was confident he could inflict maximum harm on the men, and hopefully set his friends free with a minimum amount of injury to them.

There was a sudden buzzing beside his ears, like an out-of-season insect, and then a soft glow of light, and Marco’s eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of a tiny pixie hovering by his cheek.  “There is another way, blessed one,” the pixie softly articulated in the tiny voice that came from the being that was no larger than his finger.  “Don’t take action yet.  Heed my advice and follow me through the cold air,” the miniscule being crooned.  “Come this way, carefully; step where my light shows you to step,” it said, then dipped down by his feet and provided bare illumination on the icy ledge he stood on.

Marco slowly followed the direction of the extraordinary creature, so astonished by its appearance that he couldn’t manage to speak a question for several minutes, as they moved in parallel to the path the kidnappers followed at the bottom of the ravine.

“Where are we going?” Marco asked at last, bending down to speak to the pixie.

The small being halted its leadership of Marco, and turned in midair.  It had delicate gossamer wings that were virtually invisible, and its face was turned to face Marco while showing an expression of exasperation.  “The nasty ones are going to a cave where they live.  We are going to the back entrance to the cave, so that you can sneak up on them and rescue your people.”

“Thank you for your help,” Marco said.  “I dreamed about a cave, and watching a raccoon come out a small opening in the back.”

“The great spirit is sending you messages, just as it sent us the message to come and help you.  Now follow me, and hurry,” the pixie said, then moved away from him and resumed illuminating a path that led him further west and upward towards the top of the ravine cliff.

Marco heard the sounds of the group of others continuing to make their journey, and then he stopped paying any attention to the kidnappers as the trail he followed reached a change in slope and began to level out.

“Stop,” the pixie flew up to Marco’s ear.  “There’s a bad man standing guard at the cave entrance.  He’s just ahead.”

“What will we do?” Marco asked.

“You’ll have to kill him,” the pixie said simply.  “If you don’t,” Marco’s tiny guide said, noting his hesitation, “your friends will die,” and then the pixie’s light was extinguished and the miniature being disappeared.

Marco nodded grimly, and drew his sword, then crept forward through the dark, leafless bushes and undergrowth.  He stopped as he watched the pixie suddenly light up – much more brightly that Marco had seen before – in front of the face of the watchman who was guarding the hidden entrance to the cave.

“Hey!” the man gave a shout of surprise at the unexpected flash of light that momentarily blinded him, and then he said no more as Marco thrust his sword between the man’s ribs and into his heart, killing him instantly.

“This is the entrance,” the pixie told Marco as he pulled his sword fr
ee from the dead man’s body.  His guide lowered itself down behind a large stone, then disappeared.

Marco looked around the rock, and saw a darkness in the ground, the opening that led down into the cave.  The passage appeared narrow, so he removed his bow and arrows, his back pack and his cape, then piled them all near the entrance.  He pressed the sword into the hole in front of him, then he carefully squirmed his own body into the hole, and disappeared into the earth of the mountainside.

Absolute blackness surrounded Marco as he scooted forward through the cave.  It was low and narrow, so that he could seldom rise up on his knees, and he felt the weight of slimy mud piling up in his shirt and pants, scooped into place as he moved across the wet floor of the cave passage.  He held the sword in front of him and he felt it frequently touch the walls of the cave as the tube turned one way and the other.

He fell once, down a short drop of three feet or more, and smashed his face into the floor, making his nose bleed upon impact; he could tell by the salty taste that oozed into his mouth.  The tunnel shaft began to slant steeply, and Marco began to slide, using his feet as brakes that he jabbed downward to slow his descent when he felt the sword in front of him strike a curving wall.

His time in the tunnel seemed to last forever in the dreadful darkness, until he abruptly stopped as he imagined he heard voices somewhere ahead.

There
clearly were voices, men’s voices, raised in loud singing of profane songs.  Marco began to scoot forward again, and felt the floor level out beneath him.  He stopped and swung his sword to the left and to the right, and found no resistance.  He raised it up towards the ceiling, and struck nothing above him either.  He carefully rose to a crouch, holding a hand over his head in protection, and found the ceiling five feet above the floor.

Marco stretched his tense muscles, glad to be able to rise, then took an involuntary step forward as one of the voices ahead of him shouted.  He kept the sword extended and moved cautiously, until a dim glow appeared suddenly in front of him as he rounded a corner of the cave.  He stopped, and then got back down on his knees to crawl forward and make his way fully around the stone wall ahead.

When he cleared the wall again he stopped.  He recognized the scene – it was one he had dreamed about repeatedly in recent days.  His friends were all bound with ropes, while a dozen men sat around a roaring fire, singing and laughing.  The songs were violent and profane, songs of frightening things people did to one another, and the criminals constantly looked over at the captives to laugh at their discomfort.

Marco stuck his sword int
o the floor, standing upright, then crawled towards his friends.  He got within three feet of them, then paused as he lay flat on the muddy floor.

“Cassius, can you hear me?” he whispered.

“Cassius, it’s me, Marco,” he said slightly louder.

“Marco?” Kate’s voice rang loud with astonishment and hope.

“Sshh,” he said quickly.

“We thought you were dead,” Cassius whispered.

“There’s a back way out of the cave.  I came in that way,” Marco said.  “We’ve got to try to find a way for all of you to escape.”

“How?” Cassius asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Marco admitted.