IGMS Issue 32 Read online

It was nearly as lovely as the palace. Rugs of yellow and green filled the floor; cloth banners of the same obscured the walls. Lord Yuknoom lounged on cushions, Prince Kaloomte kneeling next to him.

  Outside, she could hear Tzi laughing. One of the guards had been amusing him with stories. She ached to be out there, on the other side of these cloth walls.

  "Which direction do we head tomorrow? We're nearly to the fork in the trail," Lord Yuknoom said.

  "Left." But only for a little while. Not that she had to tell them that, now.

  Lord Yuknoom peered at her, disgust in his eyes. "You have been granted a chance to help your Lord, and you show this melancholy temperament?"

  "Women tend to be attached to their children," Prince Kaloomte intervened. "You did threaten to kill hers."

  Lord Yuknoom waved a hand, dismissing her. Ayin bowed, then turned to flee, but the Prince stood. "Perhaps I might divert you into a scholarly discussion?"

  "Not in here," Lord Yuknoom grumbled.

  Prince Kaloomte bowed his head politely to his brother, then escorted Ayin from the tent. Tzi sat on a fallen tree with the soldier. He waved enthusiastically. Ayin managed a half-hearted smile.

  "I'm going to borrow your mother for a moment. Pitz, if you don't mind continuing to keep an eye on him?"

  "An eye? We're trading warrior's stories!" Pitz, the soldier, grinned.

  "I got a tarantula once!" Tzi chipped in.

  Pitz clapped him on the shoulder. "A daring feat!"

  Ayin exhaled. At least Tzi was fine, for now. Prince Kaloomte led her to his tent. She hesitated briefly at the threshold. She was a woman. He was of the royalty of Kab. But his face held no untoward intentions. The interior was only slightly less lavish than his brother's. He gestured her to one of the cushions. "It must be hard, to be forced to give up the last undefiled building of your people."

  Her people? She'd been raised in Kab. Knew their customs better than she knew those of the Xook. "It's . . . more about dishonoring the memory of the woman who raised me. My grandmother."

  "Sometimes, I wonder if the Xook weren't right, in banning magicians."

  Ayin stared at him. Was this some verbal trap?

  "We use a building a little while, maybe five years for a soul to develop, and then we burn it. Nothing is constructed to last. Few buildings are erected with beauty in mind. I visited the Xook ruins at Baaknal. The palace there is half-collapsed from looters exposing postholes, but I glimpsed murals, intricately carved roof combs. All hundreds of years old. All beautiful. In Kab, we don't have that kind of history."

  Guilt gnawed at her gut. This Kab royal could conjure more grief over the destruction of Xook cities than she could.

  "And yet they had one temple. Isolated. Rarely mentioned in texts. Do you . . . do you know why?" he asked, face cautious.

  Prince Kaloomte wasn't what she expected. Lord Yuknoom had a reputation of quick cruelty; she assumed he'd be the same. "I don't. I didn't even see much of it."

  He nodded, seemingly relieved. "Good. I'm sorry to keep you from your son -- you should go. Sleep well, both of you."

  Odd, that he didn't have more questions to ask. Ayin bowed and left.

  The temple is hidden for a reason. Ayin stared into the darkness of her small tent, Tzi breathing loudly in his sleep next to her.

  "What reasons, Grandmother?" she whispered silently to the night. She received no answer.

  Maybe Prince Kaloomte was right to criticize her. To be Xook, yet aid magicians in destroying their buildings? But that all seemed so long ago. Grandmother, who smelled like mahogany -- that was her heritage, her past.

  And that wise, fierce woman had told her to stay away. To never come back.

  Ayin laid a hand on Tzi's shoulder. "Tzi."

  He mumbled in his sleep. Ayin knelt by his ear. "Tzi, you must wake up. Silent now."

  He tensed. Awake. Good.

  "We can't stay here." Given Lord Yuknoom's threats, they couldn't stay anywhere near Kab once they fled. They'd flee northward, up the caravan road, and find Yunen. Surely they could remain in a northern kingdom, selling goods or some such thing. He'd be delighted to see them again, sooner than expected. Perhaps he'd already made enough to pay a magician to cure her wet lung.

  "Why . . . not?"

  "It isn't safe." Not that running through the jungle was particularly safe, either. She wished they had something more than sandals to guard against snakes. "We'll have to move quietly. Can you do that?"

  He nodded. What a good son she had. "Where are we going?"

  "To your father."

  He sat up. It was too dark to see his face, but she could feel the smile radiating off the boy. "Father?"

  "Yes." How they'd make it up the caravan road alone, she couldn't fathom. But they couldn't stay here.

  Ayin took his hand and pulled him to the tent flaps. The canopy of trees let little starlight through, but she could make out guards encircling the camp, watching for bandits and beasts.

  Ayin gritted her teeth. She was an looter, not a warrior. How to get through them? Her eyes drifted skyward. Perhaps if they were very quiet, they could climb up a tree in the middle of camp, then travel from branch to branch until they passed the guards. Perhaps the guards would mistake them for howler monkeys.

  It would be dangerous even in daylight. But Ayin couldn't imagine it was more dangerous than the temple.

  She stepped into the warm, humid night. A few quiet strides brought her to the base of a large tree, well shielded from view by tents and greenery.

  "Up," Ayin whispered, boosting Tzi. He clung for a moment to the trunk above her head, unmoving. Then he climbed, lithe limbs pulling him surely up, more than twice her height above the ground.

  Then he screamed and fell. Ayin scrambled to catch him. He crashed into her; they collapsed in a heap on the loamy ground. "Did you break anything?"

  "N-no." His voice shook, crying. "Something bit me."

  Before Ayin could say another word, the deadly tip of an obsidian spear pricked her throat. "Trying to escape, and clumsily at that. We'll see what Lord Yuknoom wants to do with you."

  But apparently no one dared wake Lord Yuknoom until morning. The guards tossed her in her tent, then surrounded it. She didn't have enough light to look at Tzi's hand, but she ran her fingers over the bump there.

  "It burns," Tzi whispered, voice small. "All up my arm."

  "Did you see what it was?"

  "No. Just this sharp pain and . . . fire. It's spreading to my chest."

  Ayin bit her lip. Likely a gray caterpillar sting. He'd feel like he was on fire for three days, but with enough water, he'd survive. She pulled back the tent flap. "Guards, I need --"

  A spear butt cracked into her ribs. Ayin fell back, gasping.

  "Mother!" Tzi yelled.

  The guard snorted. "Didn't we tell you to stay put?"

  Ayin spluttered, felt her ribs. Nothing broken. "I'm sorry, Tzi. I'm sorry."

  There was nothing else for it. She made him drink the last of their water flask, then cuddled him, stroked his hair, and told him everything would be fine. Tzi didn't seem convinced; she'd never been good at lying.

  The guards dragged her and Tzi into Lord Yuknoom's tent. Tzi collapsed onto the floor, rubbing his arms. Two dirty trails of perpetual tears ran across his cheeks. He whimpered quietly. Ayin knelt and gathered her son in her lap.

  "What's this?" Lord Yuknoom demanded, disgusted. Prince Kaloomte sat by him; each had a steaming cup of atole.

  "She tried to escape last night with the boy by climbing up one of the trees in camp."

  Pity welled in Prince Kaloomte's soft eyes; derision hardened Lord Yuknoom's face. "Worthless wench! I should have your head here."

  "We'll never find the temple if you do," Prince Kaloomte said. "Aren't you determined to get the better of those who cursed you?"

  Ayin peered at the empty shoulder anew. Cursed? The postholes of a butchery shop could sever an enemy's limb -- but that's why all such buildin
gs were banned. If someone wanted to skin a deer or pluck a turkey, it had to be out of doors or under a lean-to.

  "I'd prefer knowing their names and crushing them," Lord Yuknoom muttered, eyes hot with hate.

  He hadn't seen them? Only the most talented magicians could affect a person from any distance. Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised that Lord Yuknoom had made powerful enemies.

  Prince Kaloomte nodded. "My men are searching for illegal postholes as we speak."

  Ayin held Tzi close. He was feverish, shaking. But she didn't dare ask for anything for him -- not at this moment.

  "You'll continue with us," Lord Yuknoom snapped at her.

  Ayin tried not to audibly exhale. He wouldn't kill them outright.

  "Your son, however, will be tied up in a tree. Isn't that where you were trying to go?"

  Tzi, in his feverish state, didn't seem to hear, but Ayin's throat turned into a desert. "You can't --"

  "Can't? You seem fond of that word. Of course I can. I could have him gutted here in the tent if I chose." He stared at her, daring her to contradict him again.

  Ayin bit her lip hard.

  "For his sake, I hope the temple is close. Once you take us safely there, we can return here and let him down."

  "A jaguar, or another gray caterpillar, or --"

  "Did I give you the impression we were negotiating?"

  Ayin clutched Tzi tight. Her boy. Her child. They couldn't have him. She turned to Prince Kaloomte, but his eyes only held sad resignation.

  "Guards. Take the boy," Lord Yuknoom commanded.

  Panic welled up in her gut. With it, came the cough. She doubled-up, pain flaring from abdomen to throat. Tzi's small hands grasped at her; other hands yanked away. She struggled to hold onto him, to force the cough away, but when she finally regained the ability to breathe, her arms were empty. The orange mucus rolled off her enchanted clothes to the floor.

  "You're disgusting," Lord Yuknoom sneered. "Get out."

  Her against Lord Yuknoom's four dozen guards. She had no chance.

  "I'm sorry, Grandmother," she whispered to the trees.

  Ayin took them to the left fork, then turned from the path. The porters set down the palanquins, then all continued on foot through the dense jungle. Perhaps, if she moved fast enough, they could return to Tzi by nightfall. Lord Yuknoom puffed near the rear of their party. She wished she could inflict more suffering on him.

  They twisted between trees, vines, and ferns all morning. Sometimes she had to slide down the steep ground on hand and foot, though her clothes refused to become muddied. Midday, she stopped at a ravine.

  Prince Kaloomte strode up along side her. "It seems you've reached a dead end."

  "No. It's down there."

  Prince Kaloomte peered over the ravine edge. "I . . . only see water."

  "I'll show you." But first she asked one of the soldiers for a flask. She drank deeply, soothing her throat for the time being, at least.

  Hand over hand, she started down the sheer ravine. The guards cried out, but Prince Kaloomte must have said something, for in a moment, they quietly followed her.

  She worked slowly, testing her feet against the rock before letting her weight rest on it. At last her feet touch a broad outcropping, midway down. Water lazily flowed over the ravine bottom, ten times her height below.

  A narrow opening led into the rock wall -- impossible to see from above. "It's here."

  The outcropping was just wide enough for two guards to join her.

  Lord Yuknoom peered at them from the top of the ravine. "Is it as she says? Is there an entrance?"

  One of the guard brushed past her, then returned. "Holy Lord of Kab, there is something down here, but it is too dark to see!"

  Ayin swallowed hard, pulse racing. The opening looked like a sideways maw, ready to swallow her. Lord Kaloomte could have this place and whatever disaster it brought. "I've done as you've asked. I want to return to my son."

  "Am I healed? I'll take no more insubordination from you," Lord Yuknoom snapped. Then he turned to the guard. "Take her inside."

  It smelled like dust, like death. Hardly any light from outside could enter the crooked door. She drank from the flask again, silently apologizing to Grandmother. Perhaps horrible things would happen, but what could be worse than losing Tzi? Grandmother had braved this place to heal her, after all.

  The next dozen guards brought torches. The light glittered off stalactites high above them. A family of rats scurried back into the darkness of the cave. But the scenery was hard to stare at, given the large building hunkering in the center of the cave. The flat roof and square stone pillars were as foreboding as they'd been in memory. Figures carved across the roof read, "A Holy Temple, for the Use of Our Gods."

  Ayin took another draw from the flask, to give her hands something to do. When she'd come here before, she'd seen those character, but hadn't been able to read them. Grandmother had blindfolded her here, told her to be a good girl and not peek.

  Prince Kaloomte gawked. "There were no pictures, no descriptions. I can't believe I'm seeing this."

  "I can't believe you're standing here, when there is work to do," Lord Yuknoom grumbled, pushing ahead. They must have used rope to lower him down. The two magicians followed half a step behind him.

  Ayin had hoped to wait outside, but Prince Kaloomte strode up to her. "I'd like you to translate anything we find."

  "We . . . shouldn't go inside."

  "Nonsense." He smiled and started forward. Though he hadn't spoken by way of command, Lord Yuknoom's guards seemed all too accustomed to pushing her around. One nudged her legs with his spear butt.

  Ayin stumbled forward. She'd leave this place as soon as she could. Gather Tzi. Care for him, while the caterpillar's venom wore away.

  She passed under the square doorway. Soldiers filled the spacious interior, some peering down side halls. The walls were made of stone, but in the center rose a dais. A tattered curtain hung around it on three, thick poles. The fourth pole had been toppled and burned to reveal a deep posthole, reaching three hand spans into the earth. The magicians chatted excitedly over it.

  Ayin couldn't help herself. Morbid curiosity pulled her to the spot. Grandma must have burned it. She'd been healed right here.

  The air was musty. It smelled of spider webs. But she was a looter -- she'd been in places just as musty, and most of them had more rats.

  Then she saw behind the curtain.

  The limestone slab was long enough to be a bed, but rose as tall as her waist. The top had a human-shaped impression. Vermin had gnawed away most of the leather straps, but a scrap still remained, here and there, tied through holes on the slab. The stone should have been white, but dark brown stains marred the surface and sides.

  Ayin bit her lip. There was writing. That would explain. She asked one of the guards to fetch her a brush from the supplies; he obliged.

  Her knees shook as she knelt on the hard dais. Gingerly, she brushed away the grime, revealing a single line of text and a picture. "Man may not kill man. Life's end is for the Gods alone to decide."

  The picture showed a man, strapped to the slab. Another figure, with a God's huge eyes, tore a knife across the bound man's throat. Ayin's stomach heaved. This was no place of healing.

  Ayin cleaned the God's face. As she suspected, the art depicted a string behind the head -- the face was a mask. This was a priest, killing a man for his gods.

  No word of this in all the records she'd seen. No hint. Even here in the temple, they put a curtain around it. Had Grandmother known? She must have, to warn Ayin to stay away.

  She heard one of the magicians. "Yes, Lord Yuknoom. Sit there. We're ready to begin."

  "No!" Ayin's scream echoed in the vacuous room. One huge room for slitting throats, as if all this emptiness could hide the truth of this place.

  Lord Yuknoom glared. "Guards. Cut out her tongue."

  "No, look!" Her palms sweated. "This . . . this is a place of death. Look at t
his picture, at this altar. If the magicians call up the soul of this building . . ." Ayin swallowed, hard, as a pair of guards took her arms. The temple is hidden for a reason.

  Prince Kaloomte held a hand to the guards and turned to his brother. "I believe she's genuinely trying to help. There's a frightening painting there. She's ill, exasperated."

  A cough seized her. Not a strong one, but mucus dribbled from her mouth, rolled off her enchanted clothes, and splattered on the floor.

  Lord Yuknoom wrinkled his nose, then he caught the image. His gray eyes widened. "Your words may have some truth. But you were healed here, as a child?"

  "I . . ." Ayin couldn't imagine how.

  "Guards. Set her by the posthole," Lord Yuknoom commanded.

  They yanked her forward and down, between the two magicians.

  One had already started burning incense. "Holy Lord, do you mean for us to use the soul of this place on her?"

  "Cure her cough," Lord Yuknoom commanded. "Does she not deserve a reward?"

  "You can't!" Prince Kaloomte said.

  His brother turned, an odd look on his face. "And why not? Do you know something about this building that you haven't spoken before?"

  "No." Prince Kaloomte's composure returned immediately. He bowed gracefully. "But what if there is not enough magic left to restore your arm? It is no small magic to grow a limb."

  Lord Yuknoom frowned. "Magicians?"

  The second, a wiry fellow with an oddly deep voice, answered. "The soul of this building throbs with magic. I imagine it could grow a hundred arms and cure a thousand cases of wet lung."

  "Very good. Continue," Lord Yuknoom said. Pity filled the lines in Prince Kaloomte's brow, but he said nothing.

  Ayin struggled against the guards' arms. She was more helpless than a one-legged lizard in a child's grasp. Testing the magic on her. Had she expected the brute to be kind? She slumped, helpless, as the magicians chanted. Her knees numbed from waiting -- such an old soul required time to coax. She remembered Grandmother doing it, voice soft as a lullaby. These men sounded like a dirge.

  The posthole glowed. A cloud of shimmering specks rose from it. They shot into her chest.