The Fire of the White Fountain. Part Four.
Cutter was absorbed in the pattern of the story dance when Jack appeared from one of the side tunnels. It was hard to say whether the dance was history, legend, or sheer fiction; it told how a warrior fled with his people into the Twilight, seeking sanctuary from his enemies, and how, beset by Ku-a-Naga and weak from thirst and hunger, they had been led to the White Fountain and been offered its fire. Mikal was being Ku-a-Naga with great relish, stomping after the boy chosen to be the warrior and 'eating' his sister with much roaring and chomping of jaws. The two of them drew a ripple of laughter from the crowd, although the subject of their performance was hardly funny. The pilot considered that the people had to laugh, or they would despair; down in the depths of the caverns Ku-a-Naga was no more than a whisper of terror, a common bogieman lurking in the greater unknown. Jakka did not laugh. He shuddered and his father put out his hand to clasp his shoulder with sympathy. Cutter caught the look that the two of them exchanged and almost wished he hadn't. He'd never known his own father; never shared a moment like that in his life, and the realisation hurt a little.
Jack came straight through the dancers, producing a variety of startled responses and drawing Shalanour to her feet. Several of the fishermen produced long bone knives as they scrambled up from the ground, and the hunters stared as the small, one eyed animal halted in front of his master and barked urgently. The sound of it silenced the last of the story drums; the dog had everyone's attention.
Cutter frowned, wondering what had got into him. "Sorry," he began to apologise with a touch of chagrin. The word stuck in his throat as the Frenchman beside him seized his arm.
"Ka-Tesh - and Sarah," Bon Chance said anxiously. "He was with them." Jack barked twice, then whined a little, turning back the way he had come from. Cutter's mouth went dry.
"Something happened, Jack?"
Two barks, sharp and sure.
"Something bad?"
Two more barks, urgent and demanding. The pilot winced.
"Can you take us there?"
Another two barks, and the dog was away, running towards the tunnel he had emerged from, pausing at its entrance to bark yet again.
"Come on," Cutter realised, striding after him. The dancers parted to let him through, Jakka and Keth on his heels. Jenovie was held by her younger brother's arm, her eyes wide and alarmed but the pilot barely noticed them. He was six steps into the tunnel before he noticed it was pitch dark inside. He cursed, then smiled grim thanks as Bon Chance appeared to thrust a torch into his hand. The Frenchman handed the second one he carried to his son as the pilot strode after the anxious dog, and answered Keth's wary question with curt words in the Twilight tongue.
Cutter didn't pause to register them. He raced into the twisted passage, sudden anxiety hammering at him. He didn't know what dangers might lurk down here in the darkness, but a cold knot had tied itself into his stomach and refused to go away. Jack led him at a run, only pausing now and then at an intersection to make sure his pursuer took the right turn. The pilot was lost in seconds, but he didn't notice that. His attention was fixed on Jack's scurrying shape, the dog's shadow dancing in the light of the torch as it flickered and flamed in his hand.
Another twist of passage, the unexpected creak of a wooden bridge laid over a narrow chasm, and they emerged into vaulted space, the arching confines of another cave, Jack's shadow suddenly large and ominous against its walls. At the far end lay a tumble of rubble, a sliding of rock and scree that climbed towards an upper opening, Jack shot across to it, pawing at the confusion of rock. For a brief moment Cutter did not understand. There was dust drifting in the air, and no sign of anything or anyone that he could immediately see.
Bon Chance was quicker to realise. He cursed, a shocked exclamation of sound that registered above the murmur of voices that followed them both, and pushed past the pilot to begin clawing at the fallen stones. Understanding hit Cutter like a hammer blow. He hurriedly wedged the torch into a nearby crack and moved to join his friend, who was tossing rock aside as if it were made of paper machè.
"The upper tunnel is dangerous," the man was muttering, his words running together in agitation. "They should have been nowhere near here." Behind him Jack barked twice in bitter confirmation of the thought.
Cutter dug into the scree, excavating loose stone and slabs of rock that shifted and twisted in his hands. Other's bent to help around them, Jakka and Keth among them. A sense of urgency had fallen on the crowd and they worked together in unified haste, scattering the rubble around the flicker filled cavern. The pilot paused once for a gulp of air and, when he did so, it was to notice that their frantic efforts had two audiences. One was Shalanour and a huddle of women, Jenovie held tight against her leg. The other was the fishermen, JalaHalan at their head, showing no intent to join the work. The fisher's leader had an odd look of triumph on his face.
Cutter had no time to wonder at that. He bent back to the stone, lifting and pushing until his hand encountered something soft and yielding beneath the hard impact of his hands. Somewhere close by a cry of anguish was forced from a man's throat, but he paid no attention, urgency driving his hands, sweat half blinding him in the flickering light.
Sarah lay unconscious beneath the rubble, blood oozing from her temple, her body twisted and her face pale. Feverishly he worked to free her, almost unaware of the other hands that aided him in his task. It took only moments, and then he was lifting her, carrying her free of her prison to lay her on the blanket someone had placed ready. She stirred and then settled, the barest whisper of pain escaping her lips. "No," he breathed, tenderly stroking her cheek, pushing aside the tangle of her hair, trying to deny what he knew was truth. She was badly hurt, blood mottling her lips, her limbs twisted and her breath a bare whisper against his hand. "Please, no."
Somewhere at his knee Jack whined, a low whimpering sound that tore at Cutter's heart. Sarah's eyes flickered, opening slowly to focus on his face; they were clouded and confused. "Hey," he managed, the lightness of tone forced. "It's Jake, remember?"
"No, it is not," she croaked, and the old misunderstanding cracked his lips into a parody of a smile. She echoed it, or tried to, letting him know she had been joking, and the realisation turned his heart over.
"Just lie easy," he advised, unsure of what else to say or do. A hand touched his shoulder, drawing his attention. Shalanour crouched beside him, considering the injured woman with a studied frown.
"Get her to drink this," she decided after a moment, thrusting a bowl into Cutter's hands. "And hold her. It will not be easy." She moved away, leaving the pilot staring down at the silvered water she had left behind.
Fire of the White Fountain; Cutter remembered how it had worked on the wounds Ku-a-Naga had inflicted and a sudden hope rose in his heart. A day before, perhaps less than that, he would have denied such things could exist, but he had seen it, had witnessed its magic. Had he had time he would have prayed for a miracle; the possibility of one sat in his hands - if she had the strength to endure it.
He had no other choice. Gently he lifted her and supported her as he held the bowl to her lips, urging her to drink the light filled liquid it contained. She did so with an effort, sip by sip, until all that was left was a hint of silver fire. He dropped the bowl to one side and waited. For a long moment he thought there would be no miracle. Sarah lay in his arms, shivering with shock and pain, her breath slow and ragged; then she tensed. Her eyes widened with alarm, her back arched, and a strangled cry, half gasp. half scream, escaped her. He gritted his teeth and wrapped his arms tighter, holding her as the fire tore through her battered frame. She bucked and twisted, fighting to escape the conflagration that consumed her from within, struggling against his insistent embrace. He bit back the anguish that choked his throat, holding her to him as the spasms threatened to tear her apart, and then she went limp, tensions dropping away from her as if cut by a knife.
For a moment he feared the worst. He lowered her gently to the blanket, brushing her hair back from her face, hope and expectation caught back in the hollow pit of his stomach. Her eyes opened for a second time, blearily, as if waking from a long sleep.
"I feel funny," she complained, her face creasing into wary puzzlement. "Sort of - oh!" Understanding dawned with wide eyed astonishment. She sat up, despite his attempt to stop her, and then leant into his offered arm as dizziness made her waver. "That's incredible," she muttered, lifting one hand and flexing it. Her eyes were dazed, and she blinked, turning to stare at the pilot in bemused wonder. He smiled his encouragement.
"You okay?" he asked. She nodded warily.
"I - think so. I feel light headed though. And I ache." She grimaced, putting a hand to her neck to ease out unexpected cricks and crimps.
"You'll be all right," he decided, relief adding to the width of his grin. "What happened?"
She shuddered, closing her eyes as memory returned to haunt her. "We got lost," she said. "The markers had been moved and - then the torch went out, and we must have taken a wrong turn in the dark... The ground just went away from under us. I couldn't stop myself from falling. I could hear Jack barking, and then Ka-Tesh - " She broke off abruptly, realisation crystallising in her eyes. "Ka-Tesh - is she all right? She was right with me..."
Guilt slammed into the pit of Cutter stomach. He'd been so worried about Sarah that he hadn't given a thought to her companion. He shifted round so that both of them could see what might be going on in the rest of the cavern, his eyes searching for a familiar face among the crowd of strangers that surrounded them.
The tableau that met his eyes did not make any immediate sense. There were the fishers, stood to one side, a group deliberately apart from whatever might be going on. Then there were hunters, gathered in silent clumps, their festival finery streaked with dust; beyond that a huddle of figures, some of them women, crouched or stood around some unspecified point of attention. Keth stood at their head, Mikal embraced by one arm, Jenovie by the other. His face was grim, and the girl was clearly crying. In fact, her quiet sobs were the only sounds to be heard in the entire cave.
A gasp, a twisted cry of pain, was followed by the unmistakable wail of an infant. Sarah's hand tightened on Cutter's arm. It was the sound of new life, the first breath of a child brought into the world, and it was greeted by a murmur of subdued voices in what seemed to be a ritual response. Silence fell a second time, a silence of held breaths and expectations; then Shalanour rose to her feet from among the huddled figures and shook her head with slow reluctance.
"Che dugan, chadua," she announced, holding out her arms for the bundled child. One of the women gave it to her reverently. Mikal threw back his head and howled, a cry of anguish and denial. The two outsiders sat and watched as Jakka disentangled himself from the gathered group and strode towards the fishermen with a look of naked anger on his face.
"Taga," he spat. "Cururoo kan shala seedi fa! Da hada, JalaHalan! Da hada sa shin akau."
The man so accused smiled arrogantly, dismissing the words with a confident sweep of his hand. "Paroudoo ashana, Jakka," he answered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Laradi shuna ka regea."
"Nin!" Jakka responded hotly, taking a step forward. He was restrained by two of the hunters who warned the youth with sharp shakes of their heads. He glowered angrily at both of them before letting his shoulder's sag. The anger in his expression gave way to resentment and he fixed it on the scar faced fisherman with determined hatred. If looks could kill, that one would have done.
The man himself merely laughed and began to turn away.
"JalaHalan!" a voice cut through the crowd with cold command. The fisherman jerked to a halt and slowly turned back, contempt wiped away to be replaced by wary disquiet. Bon Chance rose slowly to his feet from among the crouched women, his face set into lines of stark stone. Sarah's hand tightened her grip even further, but Cutter did not notice. His hands had begun to ball up in angered understanding as events unfolded before them. Jack whined a little anxiously and crept to his Master's feet where he sat and shivered.
"Shaquindi, AtaLouie," JalaHalan said softly. "Lodu curoo, kaha?"
The Frenchman merely stared at him, moving out from the huddle of figures to stand a few feet away from his angry son. Jakka glanced at his father, and his fury drained away to be replaced by consternation. Bon Chance did not even look at him. His eyes were fixed on the wary fisherman, as were practically every other eye in the cavern.
"Cumma loga ada Merresh?" the familiar voice asked, almost totally devoid of emotion. "Fereasa tunaree, ha latisha? Sohuda kala ki?" There was tight accusation in the final question, and it produced a low murmur of response from the hunters gathered behind him. Cutter rose to his feet, aware of the sudden snap of tension that filled the rubble strewn cave. Sarah stayed on the ground, still too dizzy to risk standing, putting out her arm to gather Jack to her side.
JalaHalan frowned at the figure that confronted him, his wary expression finally deepening into bitter loathing. "Cho," he drawled, turning his head to spit scornfully at the stone floor. "Mei da salounadich. Chon farunas lana keriera. Ko paroona fa?"
The hunters murmured again, angrily this time. Bon Chance paused to take a slow breath. "Ke," he addressed his rival with studied provocation, "Tamala da dia ke. Te seeana raku. Te seeana sadura," he added scornfully. JalaHalan went white. His hand snaked down to rip the knife from his belt and he hissed, like a cornered puff adder. The men behind him stepped back, exchanging wary glances. It was clear they did not like the direction of events at all. The hunters did much the same, leaving a clear space around the two men. The tension between them was almost palpable.
Cutter clenched his fists with impotent frustration. He could not follow the meaning of the heated words, but he had understood enough to know a little of what was going on. Ka-Tesh was dead; he'd realised that from Mikal's anguished reaction. Somehow, JalaHalan was involved in the manner of her death. He remembered Jakka's anxiety about the markers and his own anger flared to fuel his perception of the situation. The circumstances that had brought Sarah and Ka-Tesh to this tumbled precipice had been wrought with deliberation - not, perhaps intending to achieve this end, but certainly with considered malice. Jakka had accused the fisher and he had laughed at him, knowing nothing could be proven, but his father - the pilot considered his friend's face with a cold anxiety he could not push away. Bon Chance was beyond the need for proof, or even reason. He had given this man every courtesy, endured his antipathy and his antagonism for twenty years, and his patience and restraint had been repaid by a malicious murder for which the man showed no regret whatsoever. The pilot wondered if JalaHalan were really aware of the danger he now faced; his angered bravado was a bully's reaction, used to cowering weaker souls by bluff and threat. The Frenchman watched him with a cold and intense fury that sent a shiver down the pilot's spine. It was a look of focused certainty, a determination that could not, nor would not be shaken by mere show.
JalaHalan hissed a second time, darting forward to slash the knife point inches from his challenger's face. Bon Chance did not even flinch, and the fisherman stepped back with a wary look and glanced in Shalanour's direction. The wise woman, Cutter noticed, had moved to stand to one side of the impromptu arena, the infant still cradled in her arms. She too had a look of calculated fury on her face, but she said nothing, merely inclined her head in silent assent. JalaHalan smiled cruelly and stepped forward to strike again. His opponent calmly stepped aside as the lithe figure dived in his direction.
One hand pulled free the tangled drape that lay over his shoulder, letting the patterned skin drop to the ground. The other lifted the metal bladed knife from its place at his belt. Sarah caught back a small cry of alarm as JalaHalan spun to slash downwards with a bold stroke. It met only empty air, its intended victim twisting away with the barest of movements. Cutter winced, remembering that his friend was supposed to be favouring his recently damaged leg, the same one that took his weight as he swayed back to avoid the attack. The remaining fishermen had crowded forward slightly and were panting a low chant of encouragement, the same kind of sound a man might make hauling a loaded net ashore. The hunters stayed silent. Keth was watching his son-in-law with disquiet, Mikal pressed against him and Jenovie hugging his leg, her eyes wide and frightened.
Bon Chance moved slowly out into the centre of the improvised ring, letting his opponent feint and slash with savage intent, dodging most of the attacks and deflecting a blow here and there with the barest twist of wrist or arm. As a display of defensive skill it was disconcertingly impressive. JalaHalan's face twisted with effort and frustration; he danced and swore with growing impatience, trying to taunt his opponent into a more directed response. Cutter watched with taut expectation, wondering what his friend was up to. From the reactions of the Twilight people themselves, the event was not unexpected, since challenge and combat seemed to be a common way to settle disagreements. He knew, from what Keth had said, that the two men had fought before, but, glimpsing the expression on the older warrior's face, he suspected it had not been like this at all. Sudden understanding hit the pilot like a blow. JalaHalan was fighting for show, attempting to win some unspecified point of honour by flourish and display; Bon Chance was conserving his energy with calculated concentration, simply waiting for an appropriate moment to strike. The fisherman was still thinking of the matter as a game, a pairing of strutting peacocks that the Frenchman had probably been amused to humour that first time. But the fox was deadly serious now, and the peacock was about to find that out.
It didn't take that long. JalaHalan swept in again with a crouching leap and an outward thrust of his blade. Instead of dodging it, his opponent simply caught at the fisherman's wrist, pushing the threat of the knife away as the impetus of the move carried the man forward. The metal knife moved up, and twisted, sliding easily between exposed ribs; JalaHalan's own weight did the rest. His head jerked back, his body arched with unexpected pain, and then Bon Chance stepped backwards, letting the empty corpse slide heavily to the ground.
The silence was unbearable.
Shock registered on most faces, those that could bear to look. Many turned away, Sarah included. The Frenchman looked down at the twisted body and let the knife fall from his fingers before looking up to meet Shalanour's eyes. Of all the gathering, only she and the pilot were unsurprised at the outcome. She nodded once, her mouth creasing into unhappy lines.
"So," she considered, "it is over."
He sighed, letting the last of the tension fall from his shoulders. The expression it left behind was bleak. "Oui," he answered softly. "C'est fini. She is your's, Shalanour. I will honour your daughter's promise in that. And I will go now. It is probably for the best."
He turned before she could answer and started to walk towards the torch lit entrance. The fishers parted to let him pass, their faces devoid of judgement. Behind him Jenovie gave an almost wordless cry. "Papa!" Cutter saw him flinch, but he kept walking. In all that startling sequence of events it was probably the hardest thing he had to do.
The darkness swallowed his shadow and then he was gone, leaving a low murmur of disconcertion and the sound of a child weeping. Jakka wrenched free of the hunters that held him and strode across to recover both the abandoned drape of hide and then the knife, wiping it clean on the fallen fisherman before he sheathed it beside his own. Keth lifted Jenovie into his arms and walked across to join him, Mikal following with a drawn expression. The warrior looked down at JalaHalan and a bitter smile curled onto his face. "Chada," he muttered with obvious satisfaction. He turned to Mikal and nodded once in the direction of the wary Americans. "See to your guests," he commanded, handing Jenovie to her elder brother. "This is no longer your business, only mine."
"A Challenge ends in first blood," Mikal explained reluctantly as he led them back through the tunnels. Cutter supported Sarah's wavering steps, since she was still weak and a little shaky. "Life is at risk at every hunt, every daybreak, and it is forbidden for one man to take that of another, even with just cause. The punishment is exile. There is no appeal."
Cutter nodded with understanding, seeing the pieces of the puzzle fall neatly into place. "Your Father knew what he was doing," he said. Mikal grimaced, a disconcerting echo of his father's expressive manner.
"JalaHalan deserved to die!" he announced hotly. "He has turned half the people against Papa, and it was because of what he said that Jakka went hunting this morning. He thought he could make him look a fool."
"He didn't," the pilot pointed out. The boy frowned.
"Nin," he admitted slowly. "But only because of Papa - and you," he added, glancing back at his company with a hint of respect. "If I had been Papa," he decided, his lips tightening as the thought occurred to him, "I'd have let him walk away tonight. Then tomorrow - when the boats go out - an arrow, maybe a spear from the undergrowth. Then nobody would know for sure. There would be no disgrace that way."
Cutter shared a look of wide eyed reaction with the singer before setting a determined frown on his face. "Oh yes there would," he protested firmly. Mikal turned to look at him with questioning surprise. "Listen, you bloodthirsty brat," the pilot decided, letting a hint of amusement slide back into his voice, "just because JalaHalan used sneaky tactics doesn't make them right. Shooting a man in the back would be cowardly and shameful. That's murder, okay? However justified. Louie gave the guy every chance to defend himself. Look - everyone down there knows why he did it, don't they? Justice is something that has to be seen to be done. Your way would just be revenge."
Mikal frowned over this while he led them back into the familiar confines of the family cavern. He shivered a little as he set the torch into a suitable bracket, and Cutter didn't blame him. The boys life had fallen apart around him; his brother nearly killed, his mother dead and his father facing exile. Sarah put a gentle hand to the youngster's shoulder and he looked up from his moment of introspection to stare at her with haunted eyes. "It's not fair," he decided, the anguished complaint of every twelve year old throughout history. "Mamma never got to know I won the token, and now she never will, and Papa only did what was right, and - and - I hate this place!" The realisation came with angry comprehension; the boy was on the verge of tears.
"Its okay," Sarah told him, "to be angry. Life isn't fair Mikal." Jack barked once at her feet and Cutter crouched down to meet the boy's eyes.
"Come on, hotshot," he said gently, "I know things look bad, but - your father's exile isn't going to be what you think. It'll mean he can come home with us - with you. There's a whole world out there that's he's wanted to share with you all of your life. I know losing your mother isn't easy - and it isn't going to be easy for him, either. He's going to need you - and Jenovie is going to need you too."
"Je connais," Mikal agreed miserably. He considered the pilot warily, his eyes disconcertingly intense beneath the tumble of his silver splashed hair. "I did check the markers. I really did. I thought they were all where they should be. "
"Nobody is blaming you, Mikal." Jakka's voice held a note of impatience. He strode into to the cavern and lifted his sister off his shoulder. Sarah took one look at the child's white face and held out her arms; Jenovie ran to her, seeking sanctuary in the embrace. "What is done is done. The judgement of the Fountain is final, remember?"
Cutter looked at the youth warily, hearing a hint of bitterness in the stark words. Jakka would not be able to remember his own mother; she too had died giving birth to a child, too weak to accept the miracle that the silvered water wrought. His grief for Ka-Tesh's death would be inescapably entangled with that loss.
"I remember," Mikal sighed. His brother frowned, his face set into lines of determination.
"Go down the deep places," he ordered firmly. "Shalanour will be waiting. Someone must speak for her, and Papa cannot." The younger boy's eyes widened with surprise.
"But I am not old enough," he protested faintly. "What of you - what of Grandpapa?"
"AtaKeth is in council," Jakka snapped. "The fishers must choose a new Netmaster, and until they do the boats will remain beached. You know the need. The living come first. That is the way of the Twilight. As for me..." He sighed, letting his determination slip into anxious lines; Cutter eyed him sympathetically. The youth was learning the hard way what it meant to be a man, and it wasn't an easy lesson. "I have - other things to attend to."
Mikal stared at him. "You're going after Papa, aren't you?" he accused with sudden insight. "That's forbidden! They will exile you too..." The anguish in his voice was stark. Jakka gave him an odd look.
"Let them," he growled, stripping off his ceremonial cloak and laying it - no them - on a nearby bench. He'd been wearing his father's over his own, and he ran his hand across the patterned hides before he turned away. "Let them judge us if they wish. It doesn't matter anymore." He moved to crouch in front of his brother so that their eyes were on a common level; one hand went to Mikal's shoulder in a gesture of reassurance and affection. "Don't you understand? We are leaving this place." He glanced at the watching Americans, eliciting a nod of understanding from the pilot and a sympathetic smile from the singer. Jenovie was staring at him, her eyes wide and her lip trembling. "We are leaving the Twilight forever. That's why Papa was able to do what he did, don't you see? And that's why you can go to Shalanour - because someone has to speak for Ka-Tesh and you are her true son, and that's what's important, not how old you are. The big rules are made for reasons, but those reasons sometimes get lost behind the rules, and then all the little rules get added for other reasons and sometimes they have to be broken so that the big rules can be kept. Papa told me that once, but I never understood until now."
Mikal looked puzzled, but accepted his brothers words with a cautious nod. Cutter considered both of them warily. He wanted to help, but he wasn't sure how he could. Jakka's steely determination concealed a complex mixture of pain and anger, just as raw and difficult to deal with as that of the younger boy. The letter, and the spirit of the law were always difficult concepts to disentangle from each other, and the young hunter's instinctive understanding of his father's actions did not make their consequences any easier to deal with. The life of the Twilight People and their unwritten laws had been the society which had shaped them, and to question one of its values was to question them all. "What shall I say?" Mikal was asking, focusing his concerns on the difficult task he had been set.
"Whatever you can," Jakka answered impatiently. "Say good-bye for all of us. Promise we'll look after Jenovie - and Papa. Say what you feel. There aren't any formal words. Shalanour will sing her death to the Fountain. You have to speak for her."
Mikal nodded, moving because his brother pushed him in the right direction. Jakka waited until he had left before he turned warily towards his guests. "I'm sorry," he offered almost guiltily, "for all of this. Mademoiselle Sarah, are you all right?"
"Yes," she smiled, a little wearily. "At least - I think so. Jakka - I'm sorry. About Ka-Tesh and - everything."
"Don't be," he insisted hurriedly, glancing between her and the pilot as he did so. "I mean - thank you. Please," he said, "this was written to happen, whatever else occurred. Had you not been here, had the way not been open..." His expressive gesture carried an anxious uncertainty that spoke eloquently of his inner turmoil. "Pappa may not have done what he did, but - I do not know. Will you take care of Jenovie for a while? I must find him, before...." He tailed off, uncertain of how to express the fear he obviously felt, yet could not formulate into concrete words.
"Do you want me to come with you?" Cutter offered. He too was concerned for the man; he didn't think Bon Chance was likely to do anything stupid, but he would be hurting, and the pilot knew from past experience that, while the Frenchman could seal away his grief from public inspection, it didn't pain him any the less because of it.
Jakka shook his head. "Better not," he decided, his eyes expressing the thanks he did not say. "I should not seek him at all, and - you would draw attention. I will arrange where we should meet in the morning. Sarah here should rest, and so should you. We will have to travel quickly in the dawn before Ku-a-Naga stirs. I will wake you." He half turned to go, then twisted back to offer them both a half smile. "I will tell him that you wanted to come."
He left. Jack pattered after him, as far as the cave entrance, then huffed and came back, trotting across to sit in front of Jenovie and paw at her. The child went from staring after her brothers to staring down at the dog. Sarah stared at them both.
"Oh boy," Cutter sighed, running a tired hand along the nape of his neck, "what a day. Are you okay?"
She nodded, lifting Jenovie's hand to show her how to pet the patient animal. "I will be. Jake - how could anybody do such a thing? Ka-Tesh was so - vulnerable."
"I dunno," he shrugged, bending to pick the child up. Jenovie went without protest, then hugged him, hard. "I guess there's a bad apple in every barrel somewhere. At least this means Louie gets to come home with us." There wasn't much satisfaction in his words, just a weary acceptance of event.
"Home." Sarah shivered as she rose to her feet. "It feels like it's in another world."
Cutter gave her an odd look. "It is," he pointed out.
Morning was a soft shake of his shoulder that woke him to the same torch lit rock walls and a gut sinking recall of the previous day. Jakka crouched at the side of the low couch Mikal had shown him to; Jakka's own bed, he remembered with a twinge of guilt. The young hunter was dressed in his camouflaged hunting gear, supple cut boots added to his ensemble along with the curve of a bow and a dangling quiver filled with stone tipped arrows.
"Dawn comes," Jakka announced softly. "We go."
Cutter stumbled blearily from the cubicle, stroking ruefully at his stubbled chin. It was unlikely he would have time to shave, even if he had the gear to do it. He jammed his cap back on his head, and slipped into his jacket, finding a smile for Mikal, who waited for them, dressed in similar fashion to his brother. Jenovie stood beside him, her white dress overlaid with a hide coat. She looked up at the pilot and smiled a shy smile. "We are going to see Papa," she announced happily.
"Yeah," he acknowledged awkwardly. Jakka went to wake Sarah, who emerged looking a little pale. She complained about being stiff, easing aching limbs with care, and Cutter refrained from pointing out that, were it not for the waters of the Fountain, she'd have a great deal more to complain about. The young hunter organised his expedition with planned efficiency, shouldering a bundled pack and handing a second one to the pilot.
"Papa's gear," he explained at the questioning look. Cutter nodded, and slipped his arm through the strap. Mikal was also carrying a bow, its length too long for his young frame, the arrows rattling at his hip. He picked up a smaller bundle and looked hopefully at the singer.
"Will you bring Jenovie?" Jakka asked warily, looking relieved when she nodded in agreement. Sarah held out her hand to the child, who took it with directed solomness. Jack pattered to the cave entrance and whined impatiently. Cutter considered Jakka, who, after lifting a bundle of spears from the corner, had paused to take a long look around.
"Are you ready?" he asked softly. The young hunter took a careful breath, glanced at his younger brother, then nodded with determination.
"We must not keep Papa waiting," he decided, and led the way out, lifting a torch from its bracket as he passed.
They walked through a number of tunnels, all bearing the painted memories of the Twilight People. Jakka led them quickly, the route obviously familiar, while Jack trotted at his master's heels and Jenovie walked with one hand firmly clasped in Sarah's. Mikal brought up the rear of their party, glancing over his shoulder from time to time. Cutter wondered if any of the tribe might try to stop them leaving, and whether he would be able to do anything if they did. His hand dropped cautiously to the gun at his hip, unclipping the strap that held it in place. Sarah caught the gesture and her worried look deepened into decided concern.
After some distance, they reached a place where a cramped fissure cut through one of the painted walls. Jakka cast about for company and, finding none, led them through the narrow gap. It was a squeeze; Cutter had to pass his bundle through before he could ease his way past the grasping stone, and Sarah shimmied through with a forced out breath. The young hunter looked decidedly relieved when his entire family were on the far side of the opening. "It is narrow way for a while," he apologised softly, "but this way we avoid the gatekeepers altogether. Not many know this tunnel meets up with the outer ways, or else it too would be watched."
Cutter couldn't resist the grin. "This is how you left the other day, right?" Jakka nodded, briefly echoing the amusement before settling his face into more serious lines.
"We must hurry," he said. "The day grows warm outside."
They moved on, this time past unpainted stone, walking through rougher cut passageways and up scree strewn slopes. The outer tunnels were touched with a subtle chill, although Cutter suspected they would miss its coolness once they had reached the humidity that awaited them. It was hard to say how far they had walked, or how long it had taken them, but they arrived, somewhat suddenly, in the small cavern that had been their introduction to the underground world only the day before. The stack of torches still lay as before at its centre and Jakka sighed before deliberately extinguishing the one in his hand by grinding it on the stone at his feet.
It went very dark, their eyes only adjusting gradually to the faint spill of light that beckoned from the tunnel that led outside. "I will go first," Jakka announced firmly. "Do not follow until you hear me call."
They waited, but it was only a few short seconds before they heard his voice urging them out. Cutter led the way, expecting to be blinded by the emergence into light but finding instead that that day had hardly progressed beyond a subtle grey shading, the sky a dull lead and all the expected colours muted into common shades like an underexposed photograph. Jakka was stood on the open hillside, and his father was sitting on an outcrop at his side.
Bon Chance was still dressed in his gathering finery, the iridescence subdued in the dim light. He turned as Cutter stepped carefully down the slope to join him, revealing shadowed eyes in a face cut from stone; then his expression softened into a sad smile as Jenovie bounced down past the pilot and threw herself straight at him. "Papa!" she welcomed with heartfelt delight. He caught her easily and held her close; the emotion of that moment was so strong that Cutter had to turn away, studying the glimpse of curving coastline that his unexpected vantage point revealed as if that had been his intention all along.
Below him lay the familiar contours of Boragora bay, stripped of its expected edge of buildings and quaysides. Beyond it lay what seemed to be open sea - until a darker grey that might have been horizon focused into a half seen boil of turbulent water and rock overlaid with vapour and fog. "The edge of the world," Bon Chance announced quietly beside him. The pilot turned, to find his friend watching him, Jenovie comfortably ensconced in his arms. "If you were foolish enough to risk its terrors, all you would reach would be the other side of the island." His hand gestured back to indicate the world behind them as if the startling statement were no more than a comment on the weather.
"You're kidding me," Cutter exclaimed, trying to get his mind round the concept and failing utterly. "Aren't you?"
The Frenchman shook his head, lowering his daughter to the ground. "Unlike le bain" he said softly, "this place is impossible to escape from without help from outside." The pilot shivered at the reference. Bon Chance's words carried a ring of conviction that only experience could impart, both of the world they stood within and the notorious place he mentioned so offhandedly. "May I have my pack, mon ami? I ought to change before we chance the journey. There is blood on this outfit."
It was stated in tones as casual as the question that proceeded it, but it brought a frown of concern to Cutter's face. "Are you all right?" he asked warily, anxious not to stir raw wounds, but equally anxious to know the answer. His friend grimaced at the inquiry, lifting the proffered pack from the hands that extended it.
"I do not know," he admitted. "Last night I felt nothing but anger. Now I feel nothing at all. I will not be long," he decided, pushing the issue aside to concentrate on more immediate concerns. "Stay here. The open hill is safe until the air above it begins to grow warm. Tu aussi, ma petite," he told the child, who pouted but reached for Sarah's hand as the singer moved to join them. Bon Chance paused to consider her thoughtfully. "How are you, Sarah?" he asked. She answered him with a sympathetic smile.
"I'm fine. Really I am. Just a little - creaky this morning."
His own smile was little more than a shadow in return. "We will remember that," he promised. "Jakka - keep watch."
He was true to his word; they did not wait long in that early morning air. The grey lead of the sky turned a slow silver, the light swelling into clarity and the colours returning to the world; it was not a true dawn, shadows reaching away from the penetrating spears of the rising sun, but a subtle surge of illumination that had no direction, only a growing intensity. With it came a gradual warmth. There was a soft breeze sweeping the open hillside and it carried the fresh scent of growing things, sharp at first but quickly mellowing down to a more tropical caress.
"It rained last night," Mikal observed thoughtfully.
"It rains every night," Jakka snapped back, probably a little sharper than he intended. The youth was nervous and trying not to show it. Cutter didn't blame him; he knew the distance they had to travel and if the warmth of the day progressed at the same speed it started with, it would not be long before the Twilight's true rulers were up and active. Mikal clearly considered an annoyed retort, but his father chose that moment to reappear.
He had replaced the iridescent finery with camouflaged hunting gear similar to that he had worn the day before, although this time no helmet concealed the familiar lines of his features. He strode across to rejoin them and Mikal silently passed him the arrow filled quiver and the curved bow. He tied the arrows at his waist and settled the bow at his back, the bowstring taut across his chest. Jakka, equally silently, handed him his knife, the metal blade glinting in the youth's hand as he held it out, hilt first. Bon Chance hesitated, then took it, sliding its length into its accustomed place. "Merci," he murmured, looking up to meet his son's eyes. Jakka faltered, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end merely nodded and turned back to his watch. Disquiet flickered across his father's features; he reached out to touch his hand to his son's shoulder, then let it fall away before completing the gesture. Cutter found himself wondering what they had said to each other the night before.
"Sarah?" The Frenchman focused his attention on matters of more immediacy. "I think you had better take this."
She turned from her contemplation of the landscape to find herself offered the sleek lines of the revolver she had last seen lying in the cavern workshop. She took it gingerly, automatically checking that the safety catch was secured. "Are you sure?" she asked. Much to her surprise, and not a little relief, he favoured her with a familiar frown of exasperation.
"Would I hand it to you if I were not?" he retorted. "Now there are only two bullets left, so do not waste them." The frown dissolved into haunted lines. "Use them only if there is need."
"You bet," she acknowledged, tucking the gun into her belt.
"Bon," he sighed, turning to regard his company as a whole. "Now, we must stay close together, and move as quickly and as quietly as we can."
"So quiet you would leave without a final word?" Keth's voice interrupted the advice with regretful tones. They turned almost as one, to find the warrior standing on an outcrop above them, his figure outlined against the silver sky. "Or a blessing?" He jumped down, landing neatly in front of Shalanour as she stepped from behind the rock. Jakka drew in sharp breath, and Cutter relaxed with an effort, sliding the half drawn gun back into its holster. Bon Chance looked, first at the warrior, then at the Voice of the Fountain; then he turned away entirely, setting his shoulders and his expression with an effort that made Sarah wince.
"Grandpapa," Mikal objected, stepping between his father and the new arrivals with alarm. "He cannot speak to you. You know he cannot."
Keth threw him a knowing smile. "And who will know, little one? Who will accuse me before the Fountain? Will you? Your brother?"
"But..." the boy's protest tailed off as he turned towards the Wise Woman. She shook her head with authority.
"I hear no forbidden words," she said. "I see no transgressions. Only the children of my children - and a friend to whom I wish to say good-bye. Shalafaha, AtaLouie," she continued softly. "Fo garuruna, te sha hunidas. Shea chahuniga."
He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on nothing at all. "Sana ha ana linga," he managed, his voice strained. Cutter made an instant decision.
"We'll wait down by the trees," he announced briskly, took Sarah by the elbow and lead her away firmly. Her mouth worked in protest once, then shut like a clam. Halfway to the waiting tree line she pulled free of his grip and stalked the rest of the way, stepping out so that he was forced to extend his pace to catch up with her.
"Jake Cutter," she announced with determination once they were under the dubious shelter of the unknown vegetation, "how come such a pig headed, exasperating, lunkhead like you gets so considerate all of a sudden?"
"Must be my boyish charm working overtime," he grinned, and she flapped at him with the back of her hand.
"Boyish something," she growled, leaning round him to catch a glimpse of the gathered group they had left behind. "Louie's hurting real bad, isn't he."
The pilot nodded, digging in his pocket for a cheroot. "This was never going to be easy," he agreed. He found a crumpled tube of tabacco and stuck it between his lips while he continued the search for his lighter. "But I'm glad Keth turned up. Shalanour too, I suppose." He lit the cheroot and sucked in a mouthful of smoke. "Makes it easier - and harder all at the same time. Twenty years." He shivered, watching Shalanour bend to embrace each of the children in turn. "I've known him less than a year, you know that?"
"A year - and a lifetime," she pointed out wryly. "There is a life between you, remember? He doesn't forget things like that."
"No," Cutter considered slowly. Up on the hill the Wise Woman had turned to include the Frenchman in her embraces. "But how much has he forgotten? How can we expect him to walk back into the Monkey Bar and pretend that only two hours have passed? We must be crazy."
"Maybe," she agreed, leaning back against a nearby tree trunk and easing her aching shoulders. "But we don't have any choice, Jake. He doesn't have a choice - not any more. We're just going to have to be there for him. That's all."
"If he lets us," the pilot sighed, chomping hard on the end of the cheroot as a way of relieving the frustration he felt. "You know how Louie can be - he keeps his personal affairs bottled tighter than his best champagne. Right now he's cut to the core, and trying damned hard not to let anyone know he's bleeding."
"Yeah, well," the singer half laughed, "you men are all the same, you know? Carved from granite and inside as mushy as pumpkin pie. Its only pride that makes you that way; stubborn headed and exasperating. Louie's a survivor, Jake. He'll make it. He'll make it for the sake of those kids out there if nothing else. And if he's too damn proud to ask for help we'll just have to give it to him anyway - the way you did the last time, remember?"
The pilot snorted. "Last time," he growled, "I ended up in hospital - and nearly didn't make it back in time. And Genvieve didn't make it all," he added grimly. "That kind of help Louie could probably do without right now."
Jack barked once, somewhat derisively, and Sarah chuckled, despite the seriousness of their discussion. "Sometimes you really take the biscuit, you know that, Jake Cutter?" she decided. "Give you an inch and you try to lift the whole world onto your shoulders. He never held you to blame for that - and even if he did, he forgave you a long time ago."
"Yeah?" Cutter's eyes were fixed on the group on the hillside, where the Wise Woman was still talking earnestly. "He tell you that?"
"He didn't need to," Sarah smiled, watching the pilot and not the subject of the discussion. "Unless you think he named his oldest son after Jack, rather than you."
"What?" The American went through a perfect double take, his eyes flicking from the singer to the Frenchman and back again in startled astonishment. "You mean ... Oh boy. That never occurred to me. You really think... ?"
The dog at his feet barked twice, somehow managing to convey a certain amount of scorn within the affirmation. Cutter let out a slow whistle, leaning his weight against a nearby tree trunk. "Am I dense, or am I dense?" he asked the general air. "Don't answer that," he added quickly as Jack sat back up to do just that. A wry grin crept onto his features, tinted with embarrassment. "How about that?"
Sarah's smile spread into an equal grin. "You dope," she said affectionately. "Now will you stop worrying about feeling guilty and start worrying about the important things?"
"Yeah," he acknowledged, a little chagrined. "You're right. There are no other choices. Just a hard road ahead for a while. I just wish there was some way to make it easier, that's all."
"Me too," she agreed softly. "Me too."
AtaKeth came down the hill with his grandchildren, Jenovie tucked into the crook of his arm and one hand resting lightly on his son-in-law's shoulder. Shalanour vanished into the hillside while they descended; when Mikal half turned to look back she was gone, as if she had never been there at all.
"...and you mind what your father says," Keth was advising sternly when they came within earshot. "There is more than one kind of jungle, and Ku-a-Naga has many faces. You may not always hear him coming."
"Cho, Grandpappa," the youngster's chorused obediently, and the hunter laughed.
"Young ears listen," he remarked wisely, "but they rarely hear what old men say." He passed Jenovie into Sarah's outstretched arms, tweaking the child's nose with his thumb as he did so. Jenovie giggled. "Do not forget me, little one," he asked. She shook her head rapidly, then buried her face against the singer's shoulder with a sudden flurry of embarrassment. "As for you," he continued, turning to his grandsons with stern consideration. "You - " His face softened into sorrowed affection. "You I will miss, truly. Mikal," he requested, sliding a handful of bracelets off his right arm, "take care of your sister. These are for you. For all the dances I will not see, and for the day you become a man."
Mikal took the offering carefully, nodding a wary acknowledgement of the gift, clearly fighting back the threat of tears. The metal rings jangled in his hands as Keth reached forward and embraced him. He could not return the gesture without dropping the jewellery, but he leant into his grandfather's arms and whispered something no-one else could hear. The hunter nodded, letting him go to turn towards to his brother. "As for you, Jakka - you are a man already, and I am proud of you for that." He lifted off three of the heavy necklaces he wore and placed them over the young mans head. "Look after your brother and sister, and - you mind your father's word. And your father."
Jakka nodded much as his brother had done, then warily extended his hand in the hunter's gesture of comradeship. Keth took it firmly, clasping his grandson's fingers and then pulled him into a tight embrace. The young man returned it; when they parted his face bore a look of solemn determination, and he quickly turned to reassume his careful watch on their surroundings. AtaKeth directed his attention to the figure that still stood pensively at his side.
"Shakla jaha, AtaLouie," he said softly. "Kai da rishana, laha?"
Bon Chance smiled, a little sadly. "Cho," he breathed. "Fash de larensha." His gesture somehow gathered up the entire Twilight - and then tipped it from his hand as if it were sand that fell from between his fingers. "Ku laha," he shrugged. His eyes were bleak. "Ku-a-Naga."
Keth laughed, although it had no humour in it. "Thus it always is - in the twilight," he decided. He held out his hand and the Frenchman completed the ritual contact, their hands remaining clasped a little longer than might normally be the case. Then older hunter smiled and released his grip, pointing firmly towards the jungle as he did so. "Go home, Bon Chance," he advised, nodded once at the watching pilot, and was gone, a lithe bound of patterned leather that assailed the hillside and was quickly swallowed by its contours. The man he left behind stared after him.
"Hadn't we better get moving?" Cutter suggested after a moment when nobody showed any sign of doing so. Bon Chance turned to consider him with an unreadable intenseness. Finally, he smiled - the slow, world weary smile of a man who understood that life could be worth the price it demanded, however steeply he might have had to pay.
"Oui," he decided firmly. "It is time for us to go."
The day grew hot, very quickly. Cutter endured the growing heat for a while, but finally succumbed to need and stripped off his jacket; Jakka watched him disentangle it from the third tree before the young man snatched it from him and thrust it into his bulging bag. The pilot half protested, then grinned his thanks and plunged on, less encumbered and decidedly more comfortable. They moved through the primitive jungle, making what speed they could, avoiding the stir of its ponderous inhabitants wherever possible. Once, they encountered a huddle of scaled bodies, a dozen of more lying together to gain the most from mutual warmth. Bon Chance and his oldest son exchanged worried glances as their path took them close to the barely waking creatures. Cutter saw one stir, lifting its head to reveal a curved snout laden with pointed teeth. It was small, and would have barely reached to his shoulder if standing, but their sleek back legs, a sharp contrast to the smaller clawed forelimbs, spoke of speed and strength. "Kekatch," Jakka hissed, frowning at Mikal as the boy immediately tried to move closer for a better look. Sarah picked up Jenovie and hurried past, following the path that Jakka indicated. Cutter loped after her, hissing at Jack who had half started towards the huddled creatures. The dog huffed, but obediently trotted after the pilot; Bon Chance threw the two of them a wry look, undoubtedly remembering other occasions when the one eyed mutt had been less than attentive to his master's wishes.
A Coobara strolled past a little further on, smaller than the one they had encountered the day before but still an imposing bulk. Two miniature copies of its long necked elegance tumbled in its wake, one of them pausing to dip its head in their direction. Jakka put out his hand and caressed the blunt snout; it butted his hand and gave a little warbling cry which was echoed by the adult ahead of it. The sound, deep and rumbling compared with that of the immature animal, echoed out into the open plain and was answered from several directions.
"The day advances," Bon Chance remarked anxiously. "We must hurry."
They reached the scattered scree and the start of the valley above it almost before Cutter expected to. The peculiar quality of the light flattened perspective somehow, so that the distances were oddly distorted; he had not been paying that much attention to the view ahead in any case. The familiar pattern of Sofri's slopes were a welcome sight after the disconcerting jungle. Only a few scattered bones remained to mark the place of conflict the day before; small beaked scavengers no larger than Jack were squabbling over what was left of a crested skull.
"Not far now," he grinned at Mikal, who had paused to stare at the tumbled bones. The boy nodded and hurried after his father, the Frenchman glancing around only briefly before leaving the shelter of the trees. Cutter bent to scoop Jenovie onto his shoulder and Sarah extended her pace to catch up with him as they began to assail the slopes.
"Be wary," Jakka hissed from behind them. "Ku-a-Naga does not see well, but his sense of movement is keen. Stand down wind and very still and he may pass you by."
"Or not," Bon Chance called back grimly. He had unlimbered his bow and walked with it dangling in one hand. The other rested lightly on the quiver at his hip. The pilot, glancing around himself warily, checked that his revolver slid freely from its holster and stepped back so that Sarah could move ahead of him. They scrambled into the hidden valley in single file, Jakka bringing up the rear, and Jack trotting cautiously at his master’s heels.
The curtain of light still played its impossible shimmer across the open air, hiding the outline of the looming volcano behind it. There seemed to be nothing else in the entire place, only the subtle shift of bushes touched by a sluggish breeze adding a sense of movement to the landscape. Cutter carefully lowered the child back to the ground and Sarah reached to capture her hand, drawing her in to her side. There was a brooding sense of expectation to the place, the air heavy with the gathering heat. "That's it," the pilot announced, relieved to find the gateway still there. He had half expected it to have long since vanished. Jack barked twice in easy agreement and set off towards the waiting curtain at a trot.
Somewhere very close, Ku-a-Naga screamed.
Bon Chance looked round at the impact of the sound, identifying its source with a caught back curse. "Run!" he commanded instead, pushing his younger son ahead of him towards the shimmer of the gate. Mikal needed no urging; the first of two sleek killers emerged from behind an outcrop to their left, the second stomping into view barely a hundred yards away.
Sarah took one look, then scooped up a frozen Jenovie and dived after the boy, the movement drawing the attention of both monsters, who's heads turned in tandem to follow her. Cutter pulled Jakka past him, the youth stumbling a little on the loose stone underfoot. "Go," the pilot ordered brusquely, drawing his gun as he did so.
The closer of the two creatures lumbered forward, then staggered back as a well aimed arrow impacted into its chest. It roared and snapped at the offending sting, allowing Jakka to skirt its approach. He caught up with the singer and hurried her and his sister onward; his attention directed towards the second killer which was moving to intercept their run. The wounded animal turned on its attacker, snapping down with extended jaws. Bon Chance dodged, dropping to the ground and rolling away as a huge and taloned foot slammed into the gravel barely inches from his hip. Cutter cursed, dropped to his knee to steady his aim and put a bullet between the beast's eyes. Even then it didn't go down. Blinded and roaring with pain, it staggered between them, its tail lashing frantically as its head turned this way and that. The second bullet took it in the throat and its scream turned into an ugly gurgle.
The sound was answered from elsewhere in the valley. Cutter tore his eyes away from the death throes of the monster, realising that others of its kind had been attracted by the sound of conflict. He took a deep breath and leapt the thrashing tail, hitting the ground on the other side at a run. The Frenchman had already regained his feet and fell in behind him, matching the taller man's hurried pace with a practised lope. Ahead Jakka was fencing with a nightmare, yelling and dancing to attract its attention while Sarah edged a terrified child closer to the shimmering line that was their escape. Ku-a-Naga snapped down, then back, splintering the young man's spear into matchsticks. Its right foot lifted to strike - and the impact of a bullet in its belly staggered it over and back with a ground shaking crash. Cutter saw Sarah thrust the gun back into her belt and lift the child at a run; the next minute the two of them were enfolded in the curtain of light and vanished in a silent cascade of sparks.
The fallen monster screamed and thrashed, trying to regain its feet. Jakka backed away from its writhing, skirting a clump of broken bushes to join his father and the pilot where they had paused for breath and an assessment of the situation. Cutter glanced around, seeing at least four other crested hunters loping towards them. "We gotta get out of here," he panted, sliding two new bullets into the empty chambers of his gun. Bon Chance nodded grimly, watching the wounded monster scrabble and snap at empty air. Its struggles had pushed it closer to the gate, and anyone trying to enter the curtain of light was going to be well within its reach. The valley echoed with its cries, the sound answered by those of its brethren as they stalked toward its distress.
"Time it right," the Frenchman advised his son, who nodded a wary agreement. Cutter levelled his revolver and put a second bullet into the wounded monster's head.
"Go!" he ordered, whirling as a challenging roar spilt the air behind them. A mouthful of death loomed right above him.
Event shattered into a confusion of action and reaction. Jakka had already leapt for the curtain of light, hurdling the dying creature with an athletic vault. Bon Chance, half a step behind him, reached to pull Cutter away from the slash of taloned claws that scythed through the bushes. The gun went tumbling. The pilot rolled to the ground then up again. Jaws snapped inches from his head as he scrambled away. He dodged again, leaping over the sprawl of dying flesh, only to be caught by the thrash of spasmed tail. It threw him sideways, into a flare of light -
- and out into familiar sunlight, a ring of steel poles halting his tumbled roll. He had time to see Sarah reacting to his arrival, or perhaps to her own - the entire group seemed to have emerged simultaneously - and then Ku-a-Naga stumbled into existence, venting a scream of startled confusion. Power crackled overhead as the creature's bulk spilt the wire ring and pushed over its supporting poles. Jakka shouted something, pushing his brother clear of the monster's path as it whirled in pain and anger. Cutter tried to scramble to his feet as one taloned claw lashed out in his direction. Fire tore through his back and shoulder, the blow driving him into the rock. He rolled over, stars dancing in front of his eyes. He could hear Jack barking distantly, and Sarah calling him, panic in her voice. The words made no sense. Above him the shadow of death loomed, wide jaws filled with white teeth filling his vision. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe for the pain that had seized his existence; only watch as the nightmare came closer and closer
A shot rang out, then another, jerking the creature's head back, but with anger, not pain. It whirled above him, one massive clawed foot striking down over his body. He screamed, or thought he did, pinned beneath a weight that went on forever. 'This is it' he thought distantly, wondering why dying had to hurt so much. Something moved in the corner of his vision; abruptly the weight was gone, the monster's scream turning to one of agony. Voices floated past him, the sound of gunshots and then a gurgled roar that spoke of a demon's death. He was staring up at a blue sky, every breath a chestful of fire, every beat of his heart singing in his ears.
Someone loomed over him - he couldn't focus as to who it might be - and reached to support his head. Moisture touched his lips, chill and oddly bitter; he drank reflexively, not questioning the gift. The cold seemed to flood through him, countering the flare of pain with a myriad of icy sparks - until everything ignited into incandescence, a conflagration that spasmed him into shivering rigidity. He had thought he'd hurt before - but this was pure fire, burning into him, consuming every cell, every pore of his being. He had no breath to scream, just a caught back gasp and the pain that seemed to go on forever ...
... and just as abruptly vanished, as if he had never felt its touch. He blinked and focused his vision with an effort, feeling completely and utterly drained of everything. Bon Chance was leaning over him with an anxious look in his eyes, the expression giving way to a wry smile as he realised he had been recognised. "Doucement," he advised softly, helping his patient to sit up. Cutter nodded his agreement to the suggestion, then wished he hadn't. His head swam, and nausea briefly gripped his stomach; he relaxed back against the proffered support of his companion's knee and took a moment to regain his breath.
"What the hell happened?" he muttered, taking in the devastation that surrounded him. Canvas and crates were scattered everywhere, twisted metal poles tossed aside like matchsticks in among the debris. The sprawled corpse of Ku-a-Naga lay close by, one length of metal embedded in its gaping stomach, its head a bloody mess. The two Belgian scientists were stood next to it, staring in total disbelief at the unlikely sight. Bon Chance laughed, a soft, amused sound.
"Ku-a-Naga happened, mon ami," he said, carefully re-stoppering the flask he held before hooking it back to his belt. Cutter turned his head to consider him suspiciously.
"I know about that," he growled. "But - " Understanding dawned at the look of expectation on his friend's face and he closed his eyes and tipped back his head against the man's shoulder. "The Fire of the White Fountain burns deep..."
"...but it burns well," the Frenchman completed with a smile. "Shalanour's parting gift. I did not expect to have to use it so soon, n'est ce pas?"
"Is everyone else okay?" Cutter asked with sudden anxiety. "Sarah, and - did everyone make it?"
"Oui." The response was matter of fact, but the look that went with it was one of relief. "How do you feel?"
The pilot thought about it. "Decidedly better," he concluded, taking a deep breath that didn't hurt at all. "But totally exhausted."
"That is the way of it." Bon Chance reached down and helped the American to his feet, dusting some of the dirt off the man's shirt as he did so. "Mon Dieu, but you had me worried for a moment."
"Me too," Cutter agreed wryly. He looked up as a shadow fell over the pair of them, and grinned at Corky's anxious expression. "Some entrance, huh?"
"Uh - yeah." The mechanic was decidedly dazed by events. He held out Cutter's cap and the pilot retrieved it, jamming it jauntily onto his head. "Are you okay, Jake? I mean - I thought, that is - "
"I'm fine," the pilot assured him, throwing a conspiratorial wink in the Frenchman's direction. Bon Chance harumphed and strode over to join the bemused scientists, dipping to collect his abandoned bow as he did so. Corky stared after him, his expression utterly dumbfounded. Cutter followed the look with brief puzzlement until he remembered that the mechanic had no idea of what had been happening. "How long were we gone?" he asked, trying to sound casual about it.
"Gone?" Corky was still staring after the leather clad hunter who looked a little like he'd just stepped out of a lurid comic book. "Uh - no more than a minute, I - I guess."
"Jake!" Sarah threw herself at him with delighted relief. "Thank god you're all right. I thought it had killed you!"
"Just a little winded," he said dismissively, enclosing her in a welcome hug. "Boy, is that blue sky a beautiful sight or what?"
"I guess so," she agreed, studying him warily. "Are you sure you're okay? It stood right on top of you ..."
"I'm fine," he re-iterated firmly. "Thanks to Louie and a gift from Shalanour," he added almost under his breath. She blinked and worked that one over in her mind; comprehension drew an 'O' of realisation onto her face.
"Well - if you're sure," she acknowledged warily. Somewhere close by Jack barked twice, the sound almost one of disdain. Pilot and singer looked at each other, then started to laugh.
"You know," Cutter remarked thoughtfully, turning to reconsider the scattered camp and the corpse that occupied most of it, "that must have been the longest minute in my whole life."
"Not as long as a lifetime that took two hours," she said, nodding toward the monster's head. Bon Chance stood there, his two sons flanking him as he spoke to Leibaumitz. Jenovie sat on his shoulder, staring up at the sky with wide eyes. They were an unlikely group, the tailored white cotton that the Belgians wore an odd contrast to the primitive splendour of their company. The elder of the two scientists was nodding in a somewhat dazed manner; the younger kept glancing behind him at the disconcerting corpse.
"I guess not," the pilot decided.
"Jake," Corky asked a little plaintively, "what happened in there?"
Cutter turned towards his friend and found him a chagrined smile. "Its a long story, Corky. Longer than you'd think."
There was no hope of recovering much from the camp. Leibaumitz sighed over his damaged equipment but agreed that he had no chance of working on without it. The constable helped him and his assistant pack their personal gear; while they did so Jakka cut two long strips of patterned skin from the corpse. Sarah expressed disgust at the process, particularly as the body was already swarming with ants, while Cutter suggested that they might recover the skull as a souvenir once the scavengers had had a few days at the carcass. Corky, who had gone to measure the length of the creature's teeth against his hand, looked a little worried at this suggestion. The Belgian scientist looked up from his packing to suggest that if they did so it was not something to display too openly. The presence of a true dinosaur skull, rather than a fossil of one, might attract a swarm of sensation hunters for whom they had no other proof of events and no way of reopening the gate to corroborate a fantastic story. Bon Chance had nodded sagely at this suggestion, sliding an arm around Mikal's shoulders to quietly remark that he had no intention of his children becoming somebody else's Doctorate. Verlain went a little pink at this and bent back to his packing with hurried attention. It was Corky who pointed out that nobody was about to believe any of it - the whole story was so fantastic in the first place.
Leibaumitz agreed, muttering something about not publishing until he had been able to reproduce precise conditions in an alternative location. Bon Chance had merely shook his head and gone to help his son with his trophies. Jakka kept glancing at the sky, probably still expecting beaked scavengers to drop on him at any moment.
Cutter helped Corky pack the generator, which was the only piece of gear not greatly damaged, and covered it with a tarpaulin ready for recovery later. A hand to his arm drew him away from the task. He turned, to find the leather clad Frenchman watching him with a pensive frown. The pilot raised his eyebrows and Bon Chance beckoned him away so that they might converse privately; from the expression on the older man's face events were finally beginning to catch up with him.
The hunter perched on a spar of rock, dark obsidian looming out of scattered gravel and sand, and sighed, staring at the clear blue of the sky. Cutter waited patiently, recognising the difficult deliberation that lay behind the man's haunted gaze. Finally the man sighed a second time and turned to his companion with weary resignation. "So," he decided softly, "a lifetime in two hours - and it is over, almost as if it had never been." He looked down at the pattern on his boots and sighed a third time, a sound that was drawn from his soul. "I don't know that I can do this, mon ami. This world - will expect a man that existed twenty years ago. I haven't been that man for a long time."
The pilot smiled a little sadly. "I guess not," he said. "But have you changed that much? Where it really matters?"
Bon Chance turned to consider him, his expression a haunted one. "I don't know," he admitted slowly. "I am not even sure where I should start to find out. I have spent twenty years dreaming of this moment - and now I am here it looms over me like a nightmare. I'm not going to remember - not the details. I can't just put away twenty years as if they never happened. Because they did happen." His voice was pained, filled with the trauma of recent days and the difficulty he saw in days to come. "And I am bleeding inside," he realised bleakly. "I do not know if I have the strength to face this."
"You wanna walk away?" Cutter suggested warily. "I could fly you and those kids of yours to anywhere you choose, you know. There's a lot of islands around here never even been charted, let alone explored."
The Frenchman thought that one over, turning his head to pick out his children among the bustle of the devastated camp. Eventually he shook his head. "You tempt me, mon ami, but - that is not why I brought them here. I have to face this - I just don't know where to begin."
"Uhuh." Cutter heaved an inner sigh of relief. He knew his friend was hurting, but it was a wound only time and determination would heal. "Well, we could make it a little easier."
"We could?" The question was a suspicious one.
"Yeah." Inspiration dawned with a conspiratorial grin. "We've had an explosion here, right? Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't concussion sometimes have a knock on effect - on memory, behaviour, things like that?"
His companion stared at him for a moment, then began to chuckle, a sound dangerous close to being hysterics. "Oh, Jake, mon ami," Bon Chance questioned, sinking his head into his hand, "what would I do without you? Concussion," he continued, recovering himself a little, "may explain somethings, but it can hardly conjure me an entire family or explain - other differences."
"Its not a problem," Cutter insisted, getting into the idea of it. "I go back with Lebaumitz and Verlain in the car, and then bring the Goose round to the nearest beach. I can bring you a change of clothes, and nobody need be any the wiser. As for the kids - well, we can figure that one out later."
The hunter shook his head in disbelief, his smile genuine, even if a little wan. "As a conspirator you need a little more practice, mon ami," he decided. "The trick is always to keep the story simple and let everyone else jump to conclusions. Go back to the village. Say nothing. Everyone will assume I returned with you, since that is what they would expect. We can walk back and since it will be dusk by the time we arrive nobody will notice if we sneak in at the back of the Monkey Bar."
"Somebody might see you," Cutter objected, wondering what he was leading up to. Bon Chance laughed.
"Twenty years hunting in the Twilight, avoiding Ku-a-Naga and Kekatch, and you think someone is going to see me, mon ami?"
The pilot grinned. "Maybe not," he agreed. "But we still have to account for the kids."
"Who to?" The Frenchman was thinking about it. "Gushie will have to know the truth. I would not deny him that. But I see no point in concocting explanations for those who have no need to be that curious. They are my family - my children. Their mother died recently, and I have taken their responsibility on myself. That is all that needs to be said. Rumour and speculation will fill in the gaps for us." He paused, considering the ramifications and Cutter repressed a small smile. The road ahead was going to be hard for his friend for a while, but at least he'd managed to get him headed in the right direction. "I may have to wrestle with paperwork to get them officially recognised," the man sighed, "but I doubt anyone would question the matter too closely. Not in the Colonial beuraucracry at any rate. As for my - concussion - " He pursed his lips with familiar pensiveness. "That may have to be a little more publicly acknowledged. All you will have to do is tell people that I have taken to my bed this afternoon and should not be disturbed. That should explain my absence until I do actually arrive."
"Sounds good to me," the pilot said. "Think we can get everyone else to go along with it?"
Bon Chance shrugged. "We can try. The alternative is to tell only the truth - in which case we may be locked up as madmen."
Cutter thought about that one. He was right. Even with the physical evidence they had, the story would be very hard to prove. They just hadn't been away long enough for the idea to be taken seriously. Without the measurements from his instruments Leibaumitz would be hard put to convince anyone that his theory was any more than a theory - and a pretty wild one at that. One more mystery of the islands, better left to myth and rumour than substantiated in any way. And the secret of the White Fountain kept by those who had reason to be grateful to its power. They had not discussed that with the scientists, a part of the tale better left untold. Within a few days centuries would pass within the Twilight and the legend of the fountain of youth would remain no more than a legend. It would be better that way.
The hunter rose to his feet, his eyes still haunted, but his expression a determined one. "What is done, is done," he decided. "And tomorrow I will see the sun rise. What more can a man ask for than that?"
"Nothing I guess," the pilot decided softly, offering the man his hand in the ritual gesture of friendship that he had so recently learned. "But for what it's worth - welcome home."
Return to the Monkey Bar