The Tower of Bashan (35 page)

He studied the bones. “I’ll say. Half of those are for the feet, not hands.”

“It was the best I could do.” She shrugged.

“It was good enough,” huffed Andrasta as she leaned back against a nearby altar.

Rondel couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her so winded. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes. I can see how the three together would have been nearly unstoppable. As it is, beating one under normal circumstances would have been a great challenge.”

They jumped as a grating sound of stone echoed in the room. The door on the opposite side of the chamber slid open, finally giving them a path to exit the space by.

“We should probably get going in case the door closes on us and we have to fight all those bones again,” Lela offered.

Andrasta’s eyes widened and she stood. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

Rondel grabbed their remaining things and followed them through the open doorway. The stone slid back into place after he stepped through.

The three stood in a small ten-by-ten foot space. Another body with daggers through its empty eyes rested beside the next door.

Andrasta looked to Rondel. “Well?”

He came up behind her and studied the markings on the door. “It’s the next guardian. And for once, I’ll thank the gods. I don’t think I could handle more stairs right now.”

“What is it?” asked Lela.

“Later,” said Rondel as he slumped against a wall. He pulled out a skin of water. “We should all rest first.”

Andrasta turned toward him, wearing an annoyed look. “We should go now. We’re running low on food. The longer we wait, the more likely we’ll starve before we get to the jewel.”

“We’re also running low on energy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you breathe so heavy before.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine enough to fight something as bad or worse than what we just did? I know you don’t want to fail this close to the jewel. Sleep will do us all some good.”

Andrasta frowned. Rondel expected her to argue, however, she dropped her things and sat against the opposite wall. “All right. We’ll rest.”

CHAPTER 31

Rondel cut the last piece of dried beef in thirds, then did the same with the bread and apple. All in all it amounted to a less than satisfying midday snack.

He sucked the last bite of beef to make it last longer. “You know, in hindsight we should have cut off a chunk from one of those cobras we fought.” He turned to Andrasta. “Probably wouldn’t taste any different than those vipers you cooked in Erba.”

“Not all snakes taste the same. And some like that breed of cobra you don’t want to eat unless you cook the meat completely through. That would have been hard to do without a real fire.”

“Figures.” He stood, and pulled the flute from around his neck. “Well, let’s get going.”

“You sure you want to try that thing again?” asked Lela.

He chuckled. “Yes.
‘An impenetrable defense cannot be breached unless the true music of the flutist is reached.’
For once the clue is pretty clear. Without the flute, there is no getting past this guardian.” He took several swallows of water and secured the skin to his pack. “Maybe another dozen swigs left. Let’s hope we come across another pool.”

Andrasta went to the door. “Ready?”

He licked his lips.
Not really.
“Sure.”

Andrasta grabbed the handle and pushed slowly. It opened easily. She entered and dropped her gear just inside, looking about with sword ready. Lela and Rondel followed.

The space was long and narrow with nowhere to run or hide. In front of them, roughly two hundred feet away, stood a large stone statue of a thirty-foot tall, naked woman with six arms and four legs. She wore a peaceful look with pursed lips and closed eyes that somehow seemed even more peculiar than her extra limbs. She carried various weapons in four of her arms, but Rondel could not be bothered with what they were. He was too distracted at the door the large statue straddled. It was the first open doorway they had seen since entering the tower.

Lela gasped beside Rondel. “It’s Dikira.”

“The goddess of death and destruction?”

The girl bobbed her head, staring at the statue in horror.

“You sure? I mean the many limbs are consistent, but the rest of her is not what I imagined based on story and legend.”

“Don’t be fooled. Dikira wears many faces. She is also known as the great deceiver.”

Andrasta looked to Rondel. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

She gestured to the upper walls. “What about that? Aren’t those musical notes?”

Rondel nodded. “Yes. But, I don’t see any impenetrable defense or guardian to play them for. The door is already open.”

“Maybe the guardian is on the other side of the door?”

He shrugged. “Possibly.”

“I bet Dikira is the guardian,” said Lela, voice lined with fear.

“That is another possibility,” Rondel said. “Let me look over the song first before we try the door.”

Andrasta stood beside him, nervously working her sword in her grip as Rondel mentally ran through the simple song lining the walls.
Extremely easy. Beginner level really. Why even bother with a song so simple?
After a few minutes he said, “Got it. Let’s go.”

They advanced cautiously, Andrasta leading. There was a slight scraping sound like steel over stone. They paused and glanced about the room looking for the source, but saw nothing. A few steps later they heard the noise again.

“Look!” Lela pointed.

The Dikira statue stared back at them with open eyes. The pursed lips from earlier had thinned into a straight line. Its brows had furrowed.

Rondel swallowed. “That’s unsettling.”

“It’s alive,” gasped Lela.

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well?” asked Andrasta.

“Keep going. It’s the only way out,” said Rondel. “It hasn’t done anything but change its facial features yet.”

Rondel glanced between the doorway and Dikira with each footfall. Though he no longer heard the scraping of stone, he swore the statute’s expression grew angrier as they neared.

A scraping shook the room. A gray blur flashed across his line of sight just before an open stone hand struck him off his feet. A clang sounded, followed by several grunts and groans.

He opened his eyes. Lela and Andrasta lay sprawled on the floor beside him. He followed their gaze. The statue’s four legs had closed, barring the entrance to the doorway. The six arms of Dikira had shifted from the meditating pose of earlier into something more aggressive. Two hands were closed fists, the rest held khandas at the ready.

Andrasta swore while rolling up to her knees. “That thing is fast.”

“I heard you try to attack it.”

“No. I tried to defend myself. Then I was in the air.”

“Well, I guess that settles that,” said Rondel. “The statue is the guardian.”

Rondel put his sword away, picked up the flute, and put it to his mouth. He began playing, fingering the notes along the body, opening and closing the air holes with ease.

The Dikira statue stood taller. The room trembled as it began walking forward, scowling deeper with each sway of its six arms. Rondel’s eyes widened. He became distracted and stopped, shuffling backward. The statue halted.

A collective sigh ran amongst them.

“What did you do?” Andrasta asked.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did something. The thing started walking toward us when you played and it stopped when you stopped. Did you play the song incorrectly?”

“Trust me. I didn’t play it wrong. It’s a very simple melody, even something you could play.”

“Then why did it come after us like that?”

“Gods, if I know.”

“Maybe you should try it again. Just in case a note was off and only the statue could tell,” said Lela.

“I was once the greatest minstrel in the world. Trust me. A note was not off,” said Rondel.

“Once,” said Andrasta.

Rondel gave her a look. “My ears are still fine.”

“But you’ve said over and over you weren’t a flutist.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t recognize the difference between a B sharp and a B flat.”

“Whatever. Just try the flute again.”

He brought it up to his mouth when she grabbed his arm. “What?”

“Let’s back up some first.”

He gave her a look, but agreed. They grabbed their things and backed all the way to the entrance, giving themselves more room should the statue advance again.

Ridiculous.

“
Ready now?” he asked.

She nodded.

Within four notes, the statue took another step forward and Andrasta grabbed the flute from his mouth. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“What does it look like? I’m playing the song.”

“But you weren’t looking at the notes on the wall.”

“I have it memorized.”

She gave him the flute back. “Play it while looking at the wall.”

“Fine.” He played the flute again and once more after four notes, the statue stepped forward.

This time it was Lela that stopped him. “Are you sure you’re supposed to play that song and not something else?”

“No. But would the notes be there if I wasn’t supposed to play them? Nothing says I should be playing something else.”

“But this isn’t working,” said Andrasta.

“We don’t know that. You keep stopping me when I’ve only just begun.”

“If I didn’t that thing would be on top of us by now.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“All right. Try again. I won’t stop you.”

Rondel put the flute to lips and began playing. The statue moved once more after four notes, yet no one stopped him. He continued playing and Dikira continued. Eight notes, twelve, twenty. He caught Andrasta and Lela fidget out the corners of his eyes, yet they held their peace.

The statue raised all six arms with the next step, rearing back.

Rondel had played with tremendous amounts of pressure before in his life, before angry kings, cold-hearted queens, disinterested princes, and even thieves who threatened to do him harm should he fail in satisfying their ears. Never had the pressure gotten to him and never had he failed.

Until now.

He cut the last note short and dove to the side just as the arms came forward. All six froze in midair, feet from him, Andrasta, and Lela.

He cleared his throat. “Well, that didn’t work.” He tried to make light of the failure, but in truth it crushed him.

“Why?” asked Andrasta.

“I don’t know. The notes are right. There’s no reason why it shouldn’t work.” Rondel threw the flute against the wall. “This is why I hate flutes. It’s a stupid instrument. If I had both my hands and my lute I’d have the stupid statue dancing.”

Andrasta grunted, not looking at him as she studied the menacing statue of Dikira.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I don’t see what’s the difference between playing a lute and playing that,” she said, pointing to the silver flute.

“Really?”

“Yes, they sound different, but why would it matter if you played the song with a lute instead?”

“Because there’s a difference between just playing an instrument and making music with an instrument. Anyone can play the notes of a song. It takes talent to make actual music. Making music is where you put all the personal touches that reach down and grab you by the heart or punch you in the gut.”

“Then that’s it. The reason why you can’t get the song to work is in the clue.
An impenetrable defense cannot be breached unless the
true music
of the flutist is reached.
You’ve got the talent to play the flute, but not the talent to make true music with it.”

“What?”

“She’s right,” added Lela.

“You too? Neither of you would know talent if it hit you on the head.”

“I know that statue is blocking our way, and according to you, someone with real talent wouldn’t have a problem getting past it,” said Andrasta.

“That’s not what I meant when I said—”

“It’s not that you don’t have talent,” said Lela. “It’s the way you’re approaching the instrument. My uncle said that there is a difference between doing a job and making art. Anyone can sew a sari. Only a few can create a piece of clothing that none would forget.”

“Didn’t I just more or less say that?” asked Rondel.

“And my uncle said, the biggest difference in separating the two groups boils down to how a person approaches the task. How do you expect to
make music
, to make
art
with an instrument you hate so much?”