Mission To Mahjundar (27 page)

Mike swallowed hard.
 

“What is he saying?” Saium hissed.
 

Mike gave an abbreviated translation. Tugging futilely at the strands of net entangling him, the grizzled warrior cursed. “These mountain people believe anyone injured or deformed is already not of this world and can act as a special messenger to the gods of death and war. Such captives are sacrificed immediately, before they can die on their own, without accepting the priests' message. The man with the broken bones had no chance.”
 

Ice-cold terror washed through Mike’s veins. “Lords of Space, what about Shalira?”
 

He sensed Saium shaking his head. “No. The mountain people believe a blind person is in a special state of blessedness. It is said they died as a sacrifice in a previous life and beheld the gods. So blessed, they were blinded for their next life and sent back to this world to relay messages from the gods.”
 

“The priests will keep her healthy, then?” Mike wanted any crumb of reassurance he could glean.

“Ask your local guide what they've been saving me for, would you, Major?” Everett requested abruptly, breaking into the flow of Mahjundan from Saium. “I can’t get a straight answer from the village girls. They giggle and talk about having a chance to die honorably, offer themselves to me on occasion, but won’t help me escape.”

Mike relayed Everett's request to Saium and translated the answer into Basic. “He says based on the season you crashed, Sullivan was likely sacrificed to the harvest god. There is evidently some more significant religious ceremony later in the year, at a main shrine even higher in the Djeelaba—my guide thinks we’ll be sent as this village's special tribute. Sacrificing captives taken in battle brings high honors to the lucky village. Saium guesses the big event will be in a month or so, based on the configuration of the two moons.” Taking into consideration this operator’s grasp on sanity might be tenuous after a year of captivity, Mike tried to offer some hope. “We won't be here to participate, so rest easy.”
 

“How can you be so sure, sir?” the other officer asked bitterly. “Reinforcements waiting at the bottom of the trail?”
 

“My sergeant was off scouting when we were ambushed. He escaped detection. He’ll extract us somehow.” Mike made his voice quiet but confident.

He heard the door opening again. Carrying smoky torches, a small group entered the hut. While a circle of women watched, holding the torches, Mike was surrounded by six mountain warriors and released from the nets. A particularly skinny and scarred warrior took a sharp stone knife and slashed the vines at his ankles and wrists. Mike bit his tongue until he tasted blood to keep from shouting at the pain of returning circulation in his hands and feet. Still too paralyzed to resist, he was dragged across the dirt floor and fastened to the wall with chains at the neck and wrists. It took every bit of strength Mike could muster not to show the agony his ribs gave him as he was roughly manhandled. The story of the unfortunate man with the broken bones who got tossed off the cliff was all the incentive Mike needed not to reveal his injuries.

The villagers filed out, the last man slamming the door, and the prisoners were left alone in the dark again.

“Any chance of pulling this chain out of the wall?” Mike asked.
 

“I've been working on mine every night for as long as I’ve been in this hellhole, with no results, but you’re welcome to try, of course.” Everett yawned. “Now the excitement of your arrival is over, I'm going to sleep.”
 

Within five minutes, he was snoring. Mike shook his head and kept on rubbing his hands to ease the pain. Through the night he and Saium tried intermittently to work loose at least one of the plates holding their chains. It was no use; the plates had been set securely into the stone. Mike tried to get comfortable, but there was no position where his abused ribs didn’t ache. Staring at the chimney hole in the roof, he watched the stars wheel overhead as the hours passed.
What are these bastards doing with Shalira? Where the hell is Johnny?

“Surely the mountain people would have told us if they'd captured or killed Johnny, wouldn't they?” he asked Saium, sometime around dawn. “Gloating?”
 

“Most likely.” Saium swallowed hard. “I want to apologize.”
 

Mike considered for a minute. “Does it matter, Saium? We were ambushed. You’d warned us there were going to be hostiles, but I didn’t keep a watchful enough eye.”
 

“It matters to me. I failed in my duty to the princess and to you.”

“Our job now is to find a way to escape and rescue her,” Mike said. “Concentrate on the mission, not how we got here.”

As soon as the sun rose, the guards came and released them from the wall shackles. Mike and the others were led at spear-point into the bright, cool mountain air. Shivering, he sat when the village soldiers pushed him, none too gently, with their spears. Laughing girls brought him a bowl of thick, tasteless stuff resembling oatmeal mixed with dried grass.
 

Blinking, Everett seemed to be having trouble handling the sunlight. “This is new,” he said as the guards indicated for him to sit next to Mike. “They haven’t let me outside in weeks. They were bringing me out for exercise until I broke one guy’s neck and nearly escaped, before they shot me full of those damn darts again. Guess I scared them, because there weren’t any more trips outside. The girls brought my meals in the hut, and I haven’t been free of those chains for a minute.”

“They order us to eat,” Saium said, picking up his bowl and spooning the stuff out with curved fingers. “I advise compliance. Who knows when we may be offered food or drink again?”

The guards barely gave them time to choke down the unappetizing stuff before a large cart, drawn by two sets of yoked, shaggy beasts of burden, rolled up to the side of the prison hut. The cart was woven, like a giant basket, balanced on two massive wooden wheels with thin metal rims. The guards were pushing him into this vehicle when Mike heard a shout behind him. Turning, despite the point of the spear indenting his already suffering rib cage, he observed two men leading Shalira toward them, across the hard-packed square, detouring around the fire pits.
 

The princess appeared to be unharmed. Her long, curling black hair was loose, framing her face, floating down her back. She’d been given a native dress to wear, rust-colored with green embroidery at the hem and on the bell sleeves. The dress stopped above her ankles, as even petite Shalira was taller than most of the village women. The Windhunter collar adorned her neck and the Pavmiraia pendant glinted in the morning sun.

As she walked, village women pressed flowers into her hands and children clung to her skirts.

A more vigorous nudge from the spear forced Mike to clamber into the cart. He was led to the front, and his wrists were tied securely behind him to a rail on the inside at waist height. The other two men were placed on either side of the cart, almost close enough to touch.
 

Keeping an eye on Shalira’s progress, holding his breath in hopes she was to ride in the cart with them, Mike asked Saium, “Now what?”
 

“I don't know.”
 

Glancing over at his fellow Special Forces operator, Mike wasn’t too surprised to see the man was a mess, pale, bruised, eyes red and staring. “Any ideas?”
 

“No, sir. They brought us from the wreck in the nets, like they did you. Never went on a field trip in a cart, so this is all new to me.” Raising his face to the sun, Everett took a deep breath of the crisp air.
 

The men were now trying to boost Shalira into the vehicle. Resisting, the princess was pushing against their hands and struggling.
 

Mike raised his voice. “We're here, sweetheart. Let them help you into the cart with us.”
 

“Michael! I was so afraid you were dead.” She was lifted into the cart and stopped. “Where?”

“Take three steps forward. Be careful of Saium’s big feet.”
 

She took two steps, and her outstretched hand touched the fabric of his uniform. She came the rest of the way in a little rush and hugged him, followed by a long kiss.
 

“I don't care what happens to us now. At least we’re together again.” She laid her head on his chest for a moment, holding him tightly around the waist. Even though her embrace made his ribs ache, Mike welcomed the contact. After a moment, he said, “I think I’ve got some broken ribs, go easy.”

Instantly her arms loosened, but she didn’t move away from him. “My goddess granted me a blessing,” she said, her voice low.

“We can use all the help we can get.” He tried to sound cheerful, but wasn’t placing any reliance on the generosity of a local deity.

“No, really, this may work to our advantage. I got my sight back.”

Surprise kept him speechless for a moment, before fear for her washed over him in a cold sweat. “What are you talking about?”

“The women of the village chew these amazing leaves, and they gave me some because I was so scared.” She yawned. “I had to stay up all night, telling fortunes for them, but somewhere after midnight I realized I was starting to see shapes. Then my vision kept improving until I could see their faces and the room we were in—all the details. Maybe my nurse used some of this herb in her potion. I know she came to the Djeelaba to collect a portion of her ingredients. I’ve been having tiny flashes of vision ever since the incident at the tomb.”

He thought back to the moment when Shalira’d been brought to the wagon by the villagers. “But the effect faded?”

“Well, yes, eventually I had to spit the leaves out and gradually my vision dimmed. But I kept a handful of the herbs in my pocket.”

She sounded so happy he hated to blight her hope. “Listen to me, being blind is your best protection right now. Saium said these people won’t harm you because you’re blind. Promise me you won’t use the herb again. Or at least not unless you’re absolutely sure it’s necessary.”

“Well, obviously not here and now, not while we’re trapped in this cart,” she said.

He lowered his head to nuzzle her hair. “The situation isn’t too promising at the moment. As long as Johnny’s still out there, we can hope. Hang on, they're trying to get this thing to move.”
 

She’d discovered his wrists were bound to the cart behind his back. Evidently the mountain people had no intention of tying her up. Fingers probing the intricacies of the knot, she asked, “Do you want me to try to work the ropes loose?”
 

He stared over her head to meet the amused gaze of the burly guard sitting at the tail of their conveyance. Ten more men marched in a loose formation with them, spears and blowguns close at hand. “No, they're watching us too closely. You'd better sit, since we may be in for a long ride.”

Nodding, she sat on the woven floor of the cart, leaning against his leg for a moment and then adjusting so her back was against the side. She reached with one hand to find his arm and curl her fingers around it. “Most of them don't speak Mahjundan, but one of them knows my mother's tongue. They wouldn't tell me anything about what had happened to you. I was going crazy.”
 

“Are you all right?” He winced as he tried to see as much of her as he could.

Shalira leaned her head against the rough side of the cart. “They didn't know what to make of me exactly. Apparently they think I’m some sort of fortune teller or oracle, which gives me a certain status. They treated me well enough. I got a bath and clean clothes after dinner.”
 

Further conversation was nearly impossible as the cart got up some momentum. The big wheels creaked and groaned, axle grease being an unknown concept in the Djeelaba, judging by the sounds. The noise grated on Mike’s ears, aggravated his headache. The beasts huffed and wheezed, and occasionally let out long mournful whines as they plodded onward. Mike struggled to stay on his feet as the vehicle pitched and yawed over the rough surface of the mountain trail. The ropes dug cruelly into his wrists and after a while he lost all sensation in his hands.
 

The natives led the draft animals along a hard-packed dirt trail winding higher into the mountains. Mike kept a surreptitious but ultimately futile watch for any sign of Johnny.
Maybe he’s dead and they didn’t bother to tell me.
But he refused to accept the bleak thought. His cousin was wily and among the most skilled trackers in the Forces. He had to believe Johnny was trailing them, waiting for a chance to take some action on their behalf. Too much depended on that being true to allow himself to lose the hope.

By late afternoon the trail had widened into a road, which brought them onto the lip of a gigantic curving valley, deep in the heart of the mountain range. Craning to see what lay ahead, Mike made out the faint outline of a city in the distance at the far end of the valley, sitting on a terraced plateau.
 

“I didn't realize these mountain people were advanced enough to build anything but simple villages,” he shouted across the cart to Saium.
 

“Not too much is known about them. I mentioned the legends of a higher class who live on the highest peaks and devote their time to religion and scientific pursuits, priestly nobles called the Nathlemeru. They impose taxes and tithes on the lower classes in exchange for intercession with the gods.”