The Hunter (27 page)

They camped there on the edge of the dark lake for they were tired and hungry and too dispirited to retrace their steps. There
was a small expanse of finely grained black sand at the mouth of the tunnel several feet above the reach of the water and
dry as well as oddly warm.

They placed new cubes of fuel in the ends of the torches and stuck them upright in the sand and in the crevices in the walls.
As their eyes became accustomed to their surroundings, they were able to discern features that had escaped them at first.
The roof was high above them and curved inward, and at the very center of the roof there fell a curtain of water. It was no
torrent such as one might expect to find in a waterfall plummeting from such a height, but it was constant and it created
such a din that it was necessary to speak loudly in order to be heard.

“The lake must be directly above us,” Batta Flor said in a troubled tone, and all of them looked up, suddenly imagining the
weight of the lake pressing down on them, held back by a mere layer of rock that might give way at the next twitch of the
volatile mountain. It was not a comforting thought.

The far sides of the lake had come into view as their eyes adjusted to the dim light. The lake was not as large as they had
thought at first and a number of openings could be seen along the edges, some lying nearly beneath the level of the water,
others like their own at surface level, and still others opening far up on the shining walls. There appeared
to be a narrow thread of sand and stone circling the lake, but where it would lead was the question.

Only Beast seemed unconcerned as he picked his way down to the water’s edge, crouched, and leaned his head forward to lap.
At the first touch of tongue to water, he let out a shrill yelp and sprang back, snapping his jaws and growling in fear and
pain.

Braldt approached the dark water cautiously, wondering what new danger lurked beneath the surface. But there was nothing to
be seen. He touched the water carefully with the point of his sword and, when nothing happened, brought it close to his face
so that he might smell it. Water streamed down the length of the blade and puddled on his hand. Too late he noticed the steam
rising from the blade, too late he realized what it meant, and he dropped the sword and clutched his hand to his chest, cursing
loudly.

“’It’s hot!” he said in amazement.

“Surely you are mistaken,” scoffed Carn, but as they joined him at the water’s edge, Keri examining his hand with sounds of
concern, it was all too easy to spot the trails of vapor rising from the dark surface.

“The fires of the mountain must lie directly below us,” Batta Flor said quietly, “there is no other explanation.”

They made a somber Camp, eating their meager meal and curling up on the warm sand to sleep. They posted no guard for it seemed
unlikely that anything could live in water that hot and Beast would alert them against the approach of shadows. But sleep
would not come to any of them and they lay with open eyes and worried hearts, wondering what the morrow would bring.

Keri slept at last only to be pursued down the dark tunnels of her dreams by nameless horrors with writhing legs and clacking
pincers that reached out for her flesh. It seemed that she spent the entire night in flight, and when she wrenched herself
free of the nightmare and wakened to see the bright flare of the torch, her heart was pounding and she was more tired than
when she had first lain down to rest.

The others were sprawled in poses of sleep, and as she
busied herself with the preparation of a meal, falling back on familiar routines to calm herself, she studied their faces,
unguarded in sleep.

There was Carn, tucked into a tight ball, protecting himself even in slumber. But his face was smooth and untroubled and it
was easy to see the boy he had once been before jealousy and envy had begun to eat at him from within.

Braldt lay beside Beast. He was lying on his side with one hand gripping the hilt of his sword and the other draped lightly
over Beast who had fit himself into the curl of Braldt’s body.

Keri allowed her eyes to rest on Braldt to drink in the sight of him as she would never do, could never do, if he were awake.
She admired the long, square line of his jaw and the lean sweep of his muscular body. She tried to imagine what it would feel
like to lie next to that body, to feel his arms close about her, to hold her close as a loved one, as a joined mate.

She could feel the old familiar ache begin somewhere deep inside her and not for the first time she wondered if it were possible
to die of unrequited love. She had loved Braldt since she was a child tottering after the two older boys, trying even then
to keep up. Braldt’s blue eyes, the color of the sky, and his hair, so yellow as to be nearly white, drew her like no toy
or doll and she had run her fingers through his hair, stroking it gently as if it might turn dull Duroni brown beneath her
touch if she were not careful.

But his hair had not turned brown in the years that passed, if anything it was bleached even lighter by Sun the Giver, and
his eyes had taken on the hue of the sky at dusk, a dark, intense shade of blue, clear and guileless as was his nature.

Her love had intensified as well. She was no longer the child she had been and she knew, despite all the arguments to the
contrary, that she would never love another.

Her mother and father had talked with her, reasoned with her, and then spoken more forcefully, for it was against nature not
to take a mate. They ignored her claims of love
for Braldt, dismissed them out of hand, for were they not brother and sister? Such a mating was impossible.

In vain did she argue that Braldt was no issue of their joining, in vain did she point out the fact that there was no shared
blood between them. Braldt was of their clan. He had been joined with them and under Duroni law he was her brother no matter
what she might choose to think or say. It was forbidden. But they did not force her to choose a mate as some other parents
might have done and allowed her time to see the error of her ways for they loved her greatly.

Keri knew that she would never choose another. If she could not have Braldt, she would have no one else despite the pain and
silent censure such an act might cause her parents.

She had set about pleasing Braldt from her youngest days, doing the things that she thought would please him. The rough and
tumble games of their childhood took on a more military air once Braldt and Carn entered the Hall of the Warriors. Whenever
they were allowed leave to return home, she begged Braldt to teach her what he had learned. Thus, over the years, she had
become adept at sword and knife play, throwing stick and snapstone. She would never be as good as the boys, but she was better
than any other girl.

She had also learned to live and travel in the wild lands that surrounded the city-state, trapping small animals for food
and finding safe water even in the dry times. She had struggled against her fears of the darkness, and fears of the tiny unseen
insects that crawled in the night. And done it all in the name of love.

But all of her efforts had been for naught. Braldt refused to see her in any light other than sister, friend, and boon companion.
Thanks to her efforts, she was accepted as a close friend, one whom he would choose to spend time with. But there was still
a difference, she could never be as close to him as his men friends, nor would he ever think to lay hands on her body with
thoughts of joining, for just as she was not a true warrior, neither, in his eyes, was she viewed as a true maiden.

Keri wondered what would happen if she told Braldt how she felt, confessed her love for him. But even as she brooded, she
knew the answer; it would destroy any hopes she might have. It all seemed so hopeless. Then, without warning, tears began
to roll down her cheeks and she pressed a hand to her heart, almost unable to bear the pain.

Suddenly there were arms around her and a hand that stroked her brow, wiping away the tears and whispering quiet sounds that
eased her pain. Blindly she raised her face, and blinking back the tears, she started as she found herself looking into the
dark eyes of Batta Flor. Startled, she tried to pull away, but Batta Flor held her easily and drew her against his chest,
cradling her head in one hand and patting her back with the other while rocking her gently to and fro. “It is all right, little
two-foot. I know how you feel for I have shared your pain. I am your friend and your secret is safe with me. Shhhhh.”

Keri knew that Carn would not approve, knew that she should be strong enough to stand alone. But it was so good to have a
friend, someone who knew and did not disapprove, and it was comforting to be held by one who cared. And so she allowed the
tears to fall and they sat there side by side, Duroni and Madrelli locked in the heart of the dark mountain, hostages of love
and circumstance.

Batta Flor crouched on the warm black sand and ate the
meal of flat grain cakes and hard cheese, and finished with a handful of the precious red berries, savoring the tart, sour
taste upon his tongue. He had no wish for the hot bitter-tasting brew that Keri had offered him, but he did not wish to hurt
her feelings and accepted with a smile. She blushed and lowered her eyes, perhaps embarrassed by the memory of the moment
they had shared.

These two-foots seemed uncomfortable with such displays of emotion, with the notable exception of anger. Anger and rage seemed
entirely acceptable to two-foots, but none of the softer feelings. Batta Flor sighed. It was most odd, but still, being a
warrior nation had allowed the Duroni to remain free of oppression while the gentle, peace-loving Madrelli had been enslaved
for many long generations past. Who was to say that the two-foots were wrong.

But even as Batta Flor contemplated such thoughts, he knew that it was not so. The two-foots were living on borrowed time,
and they and their warrior state existed only so long as the masters chose to allow them freedom.

That time of freedom was nearly over, whether the two-foots believed it or not. The world as they knew it was about to end.
Batta Flor felt a moment’s compassion for the Duroni but he shrugged it away. Why should he pity them, a hostile, ignorant,
self-deceived tribe who hunted and killed those of his own tribe whenever possible with little or no provocation. They were
a tribe who refused to believe the truth, even when it was carefully explained to them, and their only hope of survival lay
in an alliance with the
Madrelli. If Carn was any example of what to expect, however, both tribes and the world they shared were doomed.

A strange idea began to take shape in Batta Flor’s mind and he allowed his gaze to rest on Keri as she made certain that Carn,
Braldt, and even the lupebeast had eaten their fill. It was an odd thought, but it held merit. He would think upon it at a
later time, if and when the cursed mission was completed and he himself returned to Sytha Trubal’s side.

And yet, Batta Flor wondered if such a thing were possible. It seemed most unlikely that the mission could succeed for their
goals were completely opposed. The two-foots sought to enter the flooded chamber and throw the lever that would allow the
ships of the masters to land.

Batta Flor had been instructed to take the two-foots to the chamber, but he had also been told to prevent the lever from being
thrown. The words themselves were so simple, mere sounds. “Don’t let it happen.” But how was he to prevent it? The two-foots
were very persistent and willing to fight at the drop of a feather.

The best he could hope for was that it would be impossible to enter the chamber, and, to the best of his knowledge, it was
indeed impossible. Had he himself not turned the great wheel that controlled the flow of water? Had he himself not heard the
machines attempt to compete with the flood and twist themselves into a tangled mass of contorted metal? The flow could not
be reversed. So far as he knew, there was no way to drain the chamber. So long as it remained flooded, their world was safe
from the return of the masters, even if the two-foots could not understand or believe such a thing.

What could be Braldt’s game? Why was he with the Duroni? That was the real question. Uba Mintch had questioned him closely,
heard the odd tale he told of being found in the desert, being raised by the Duroni. Was it possible that such a thing was
true? How could it be so? He appeared to be far more honorable, intelligent, and trustworthy than the one he called “brother.”

Batta Flor found himself liking the man, wanting to call him friend. Yet every time he looked into those blue
eyes, saw the pale hair the color of the sun, his heart clenched inside his chest, and he felt the old fear settle upon him
and knew that they could never be friends. Why was he living among the Duroni and calling himself one of them? Was it possible
that he did not know the truth? How could he have known the Madrellis’ weakness, the ears? No, such a thing was impossible.
Braldt would have to be watched closely and he himself would have to guard against his own inclinations.