Pools of Yarah Read online

  Here, the Elder’s compass came to Hramack’s aid. Dust clouds kicked up by a sudden light wind covered the moon and stars, making it impossible for him to use them as a guide, and the close high bluffs hid the distant mountain peaks from his sight. The compass needle unfailingly pointed the way for him. Without it, he could easily stumble over the edge of the kilometers’ wide chasm, the great ragged scar in the earth of the vast open pit mine. After a few hours, he emerged from the hills and valleys of the red earth and found himself on a narrow, flat plain skirting the cliffs of Singing Caves.

  Here, unlike the red dirt region, the plain was alive with the sounds of animals. Birds called to mates, and lizards hissed from their burrows at his approach. Having encountered few humans, the creatures did not recognize man as a predator, but only as competition for the meager supply of available food. Occasionally, he heard the sounds of a scuffle as some predator caught and devoured its hapless meal in the dark. He became more cautious lest he too became something’s dinner.

  At a slight rustle in the underbrush, too large for a hare or lizard, he tightened his grip on his staff and planted his feet for balance just as his father had taught him. This time it would not be Teela. He forced his anxiety behind him and fought to calm his racing heart. Minutes passed. He began to think he had imagined the noise and relaxed; then, his nostrils caught the heady, musky scent of a nightstalker, and his resolve quavered. Fear gripped him, coiling around his heart like a cold slithering serpent, not his earlier dread of the unknown, but the terror of imminent death. Of all the threats the Burning Lands presented, and they were myriad, nightstalkers were the most deadly. One could seek shelter from the sun or a sandstorm, carry water and food, but the desert cats were intelligent, cunning, and superbly suited for their environment.

  He had no place on the flat plain to seek cover. His attacker could come as silently as the night itself from any quarter. He licked his lips suddenly gone dry, and stared into the darkness. He saw the nightstalker leap from beneath a shrub beside him just in time to throw himself flat on the sand. The beast overshot its mark and sailed over his prostrate body. It made no sound as it twisted its supple body in midair to land facing him, undaunted by his narrow escape. Its hunger had driven it to leap too early.

  In a desperate land where skill was the thin margin between life and death, she had made few such mistakes. Hramack leaped to his feet and faced his quarry. Luckily, the beast, a juvenile female, was only slightly larger than he was, less than a meter and a half from her flaring nose to the tip of her swishing tail. Luck, and his quick reflexes, had saved him. If his courage held, he might survive.

  The wary creature inched forward, head held low. Hramack swung his staff. The whistle of the staff as it swept before the creature’s eyes forced the nightstalker to shift slightly, but she did not back up. She eyed Hramack and his staff with respect, circling him just outside the staff’s reach. At intervals, she raised her head and let out a piercing scream, calling out to her nearby mate. He could delay no longer. He could not face two such beasts. He summoned his courage and leapt at the nightstalker, delivering a flurry of blows with his staff. She was unprepared for prey that fought back. Several blows found their mark before the beast could scamper away. She retreated a few paces and stood licking her wounds, waiting for her mate.

  Knowing that time was of the essence, Hramack slipped his knife from its sheath and held it in one hand. Then he renewed his attack with his staff with one hand. She met the thrusts with swipes of her large, sharp claws, her powerful forelimbs almost knocking the staff from his hand. Hramack forced her to back up slowly, and then, as she glanced backwards to secure her footing on a patch of loose rock, he pushed her head aside with his staff and lunged with his knife, flinging his entire body at her. It was a desperate move, one that would leave him helpless on the ground. He held his breath, expecting the nightstalker’s sharp teeth to sink into his flesh at any moment. The blade entered the beast’s left shoulder just above her ribcage. The blow was not fatal, but it inflicted great pain. Howling in rage and fury, she limped away into the night.

  Hramack could savor his victory only for a moment. He knew the larger male was nearby, and he had no strength left to fight it off. He glanced to the east. The sky was already turning a ruddy hue. It would soon be dawn. He had to reach the cliffs quickly, or the full fury of the sun would catch him on open ground. Because he had severely injured its mate, the male would not seek shelter at dawn as they usually did. It would stalk him until it had caught and killed him. He had only one chance. Dropping all his belongings except his water skin, his staff, and his knife, he raced as fast as he could toward the cliffs.

  The cliffs were only a couple of kilometers distant, but he doubted that he could make it. He had at best a slim chance, but any chance beat dying. The nightstalker could run much faster than he could and could sustain that speed over much longer distances. He could not face the beast on open ground with only a knife for protection.

  Hramack ran for his life. His strong leg muscles acted as pistons, propelling his body forward, but as strong as his legs were, the fight with the nightstalker had drained him. The loose sand gripped his boots, slowing him as if in league with the creature. He ignored the growing pain in his calves and the burning ache in his chest as his vision began to swim. The sun rose and seemed to draw his life out through the top of his head. He was running headlong into the rising sun, and he stumbled several times over objects lost in the bright glare.

  Soon, too soon, exhausted and nearly blinded by the rising sun, he could go no farther. The cliffs were tantalizingly close but much too far away to reach in time. He realized that he stood no chance against a large male, but better to die fighting than struck down from behind while on his knees. His labored breath drowned out all other sounds around him. His heart pounded in his ears. It was as if all the Burning Lands held its breath, waiting to see who would be the victor of the coming battle.

  Hramack turned and faced the direction from which he felt certain the attack would come. To his dismay, he saw the male night stalker loping toward him, not bothering to hide or to circle its prey. Less than a hundred meters separated them. Hramack dropped his water skin and took a firm grip on his knife, bracing himself for its attack. Large predator cats were grapplers, using their mass to subdue their prey while steel-trap jaws crushed windpipes or razorsharp claws disemboweled. If he did not kill it with his first blow, he knew he would not get another chance. Once within reach of its massive clutching forepaws, his life would be measured in seconds. He must aim for the creature’s heart, protected by layers of muscle and bone. His aim had to be true.

  “Yarah, guide my hand,” he prayed aloud.

  Only fifty meters separated them now. He could see the fire of rage in the creature’s golden eyes. Sound returned in a rush, as if to taunt him. The crunch of the sand beneath its churning paws as they ate up the distance between them was thunder. However, the cat made no sound. Only ten meters away now. The nightstalker was gigantic, almost two and a half meters long and double Hramack’s 80-kilogram weight. Its paws were as large as Hramack’s head, tipped by twelve-centimeter daggers, longer than the blade of his knife. Hhe hoped the beast could not smell his fear.

  I do not want to die today, he thought. I will not die today. I promisedTeela I would return to her.

  Enraged, the nightstalker did not slow its pace as it raced toward him. It was not hunting for food. He had wounded its mate. It was intent on the kill. Unlike Hramack, it had no fear and sensed an easy kill. When only a few meters away, it put on an extra burst of speed, its paws barely touching the ground. For a death machine, it was hauntingly graceful. The massive muscles bunched beneath the nightstalker’s ginger-colored fur as it sprang at him. Hramack raised his meager weapon and lowered his head.

  To Hramack’s astonishment, the beast suddenly yelped in pain and twisted wildly in midair. It landed beside him with a thud, clawing frantically at its belly, scattering sand i
n a wide arc as its massive hind legs propelled it in a circle in the sand. Hramack backed away out of reach of the creature’s death spasms. The feathers of two arrows protruded from its blood-soaked abdomen like a bouquet of flowers. The nightstalker thrashed noisily on the ground a few moments more, then died. Hramack dropped his knife in the sand and fell to his knees dumbfounded, his heart pounding in his chest. He breathed deeply, drawing in great lungfuls of scorching air. His vision swam. He watched numbly as a shadowy figure walked slowly toward him, the blazing sun at its back.

  At first, he did not recognize his savior, but then a broad smile came to his parched lips.

  “Father, thank Yarah I have found you, or rather, that you have found me. I thought myself breakfast for this stalker.” He nodded at the dead beast. Already, small, furry scavengers were scurrying around the animal, fighting for a place in line for such a grand feast.

  Kena stood unsteadily on his feet, as if pulling the bow he held had used up the last of his strength. He reached out to help Hramack from the ground and succeeded only in losing his own balance. Hramack reached out his hand to help steady his father.

  “Come. We can talk later,” Kena whispered to him. “We must leave this place before the carcass attracts larger scavengers.” He pointed to Hramack’s water skin. “Give me a sip of your water, and we can help each other to the Singing Caves.”

  Kena raised the skin and took a long drink of water, careful to allow none of it to escape, wincing as it touched his swollen, cracked lips. Hramack noticed his father’s badly sunburned and blistered face and his bleeding hands. A strip of his shirt wound around his head to replace his lost hat. Clearly, he was on his last legs. Putting his arm around his father’s waist for support, they headed for the shelter of the caves in the nearby cliffs.

  The cooler darkness of the caves and the remainder of the water helped revitalize both father and son. Some dried fruit Hramack had stuffed into his pocket became their meager breakfast. After resting for a short while, Kena recounted his journey and his discovery.

  “And I would be dead now if not for a desert mouse,” he concluded. “As I lay near death and without hope, a small hopper chanced by me carrying a water root in its mouth. I summoned my strength and reached to grab it. I missed and had to crawl after it. When it disappeared down its burrow, I dug and found its larder of water roots. I sucked the moisture from them all save one, which I left for the hopper. Then, I saw smoke on the horizon. I suspected it was you, searching for me.

  “I was still too weak to travel far. I rested and ate the water root stems for strength. I figured you would try to reach the Singing Caves and decided to intercept you. I saw you only a few moments before I saw the nightstalker. I was not sure I had enough strength left to make the shot. I prayed to Yarah for help and strung two arrows, hoping one would find its mark.” He added, “Many times as I stumbled along, I thought of dropping the bow as useless weight, but something told me to hold on to it. Perhaps Yarah was helping all along.”

  “It would seem Yarah had His hands full watching after the two of us,” Hramack joked. “I suspect Chu Li would admonish us for calling on Yarah only when in need.” Hramack toyed with a small piece of metal he had picked up from the sand on the floor of the cave. It was twisted and broken but not rusted. It was yet another example of the artistry of humans before the Upheaval.

  Kena was staring out the mouth of the cave into the desert beyond. “We must return to where you left your pack. We will need the food. I have a cache of water jugs buried near here that will see us home if we conserve it, but we must leave at sunset. Can you walk?”

  Hramack nodded, smiling at his father’s concern for his condition. It was typical of him to ignore his own exhaustion. “Perhaps we should rest a short while longer,” Hramack suggested. He rolled over and made himself comfortable on the sandy floor of the cave. Soon, the sound of the wind blowing through the entrance lulled him to sleep with its low, soft mournful song.

  4

  High Priest Chu Li

  Chu Li, High Priest of Yarah, repeatedly banged his great wooden staff on the stone floor of the Council Chambers like a gavel. Its metal-shod heel echoed loudly in the enclosed space. All eyes turned to him. Although almost fifteen centimeters shorter than either man, his demeanor and position as High Priest stopped the lively discussion-turned-argument between Kaffa and Madras, the stone carver. He motioned for them to retake their seats.

  “Enough, both of you,” he said forcefully but quietly. “For all we know, Kena is dead. It has been almost three weeks since his departure. You, Kaffa.” He turned to stare down at Kaffa, a position that delighted him. “You foolishly allowed his son to go off searching for him. Now, we have neither Healer nor Healer’s apprentice. If, by the grace of Yarah, they return safely, we cannot allow them to wander the Burning Lands again. It is a blasphemous thing to dig into the past. Yarah destroyed the past so that we, His chosen, could work towards a future free of the past’s follies and mistakes. If, in the future, Kena must go in search of his herbs and roots for tonics and poultices, we must appoint a guard to accompany him to assure his prompt return to his duties. We each must do our part to ensure the survival of our village.”

  Secretly, he would not be disappointed if Kena did not return to the village, but keeping him under thumb if he did would be equally pleasurable.Kaffa stood and addressed the Council. “I admit my guilt in allowing Hramack to search for his father, but felt it was necessary. The love between father and son is a bond not easily broken and one far stronger than any chains or shackles or constraint that could be placed upon him by order of this Council.”

  Chu Li was glad to hear a few quiet mutterings at this last statement.

  “Fellow Council members, Kena means no disrespect to our village or to Yarah. Of this, I am certain. He is our Healer, yes, but he also repairs most of our machines. The same machines that make our lives tolerable here in this land of desolation are slowly breaking down. Yarah has blessed Kena with deft fingers and a nimble mind. His sojourns into the Burning Lands are not for his own pleasures alone. He seeks both medicines for his Healing craft and parts with which to keep our slowly dying machinery running. Without electricity, we would have to pump water up from the floor of the canyon by hand, a long and laborious task. We would have to post guards to protect our village from marauding beasts rather than use the motion detectors. We would have to search far for wood to burn to cook our food instead of using the induction ovens. No, my friends, Kena is a true son of Ningcha.”

  Madras, still angered by the argument earlier with Kaffa, rose. Kaffa’s quick wit and logical mind had bested him, and all present knew it. Slow-witted and a poor speaker, he chose volume over substance.

  “Perhaps Kena is a true son,” he bellowed, “but Hramack is neither a true son of Ningcha nor a true son to Kena. His thoughts are always of how things were, not how things are. He corrupts my son with his talk. Hramack will be our Healer when Kena dies, yet he treats his duties as no more than a joke. I say he should be punished for his sins and should never be allowed to leave the confines of the canyon again.” He slammed his heavy fist onto the wooden table, punctuating his statement.

  There was some mumbling as other members of the Council reluctantly agreed with Madras. They, too, thought Hramack too slack in his duties in spite of his past contributions. Only recently, Juresh, Madras’ youngest son, had left the flock untended at Hramack’s request to help Hramack repair the windmill. Jorah, Juresh’s elder brother, had rounded up the scattered flock and threatened both Hramack and Juresh with a severe beating. Only Kaffa’s swift intervention had prevented open conflict.

  “This discussion is moot unless they return from the Burning Lands,” interjected Chu Li. “Roagneau, you will take your two sons and set out tomorrow night in search of them. Go only as far as the first terrace level of the valley, no further. Return before dawn, with or without them. Let no one say we did not offer all the assistance we could. I will ri
sk no one else in the Burning Lands. If they are indeed dead, we must choose a new Healer and begin his training.”

  Kaffa exploded. “They are not dead. This talk of choosing another Healer is premature.”

  “How do you know this?” Chu Li asked.

  “I feel its truth,” Kaffa replied softly, “here.” He touched his heart.

  Several people snickered. Chu Li smiled. Such statements from Kaffa’s own lips served his purpose.

  “We cannot conduct our lives on your feelings, Kaffa.” His emphasis on the last word conveyed his contempt for Kaffa’s conviction. “If they have not returned by nightfall tomorrow, we must choose another to study the Healing arts. Aparu, son of Roagneau has shown an interest in such matters. Let him begin the study.”

  Chu Li had not suggested Aparu for his ability, for he was slow and lazy, but to bind Roagneau, one of the few Council members who supported Kena, to him. Chu Li’s rapidly growing band of supporters could soon convince the villagers to dismiss Kena’s large list of contributions to the village and punish him and Hramack for their excursions into the Burning Lands. By doing so, he would be eroding Kaffa’s power to sway the villagers. Even the Elder’s age and wisdom would not prevail against the word of the High Priest and the will of Yarah.

  “If the Council wishes it,” Roagneau said with head bowed to hide his smile.

  Kaffa was furious at the tone of the meeting. “You show a discouraging lack of faith by planning Hramack’s replacement. If neither returns, with whom do you think Aparu will apprentice. Hramack has been gone only a few days. He carried supplies for a week’s journey. Give him time.”

  Chu Li pounced. “You accuse me of a lack of faith. I am the High Priest of Yarah. I have devoted my life in service and faith to Him and to this village. In this time of scarcity of water, Hramack carried enough water for a week? That was . . . ” He paused to allow others to fill in their choice before finishing, “unwise.”