IN THE MOUNTAINS OF FIRE by Dolores J. Nurss
Volume
IV: Braided Paths
Chapter 13 Return to Koboros
Tuesday, August 25, 2708 I
pull myself up the steep slope by rocks, old roots, what comes to hand. My eyes burn and blur in the cold wind; they
keep wanting to close no matter how much leaf I chew, bitter as the weather,
bitter as the world. Four hours sleep on
a cliffside road didn’t count for much after days without but we felt too wound
up for more than that and too much risk anyway and I don’t even want to sleep,
I just want to close my eyes, just close my goddam eyes, is that so much to ask? Of
course it is. Everything’s too much to
ask but they ask it of me anyway. Keep
on squinting into the wind. Hold on any
way you can, Deirdre, and keep on climbing, grab the rocks, grab that root, grab
the stiff, pale fibers of the winter-slain weed, the strands that look too much
like Zanne’s long hair! I
let go, shrieking, and so tumble down, down, bruising thumps and whirls and
FEAR! before walloping right into a spur of granite and coming to rest. The others scramble down to rescue me, their
eyes wide and horrified. “Deirdre! What’s wrong?” “What happened?” “Are you all right?” “Oh God, please answer!” I
get my wind back. “I’m alive,” I
gasp. I beat back hands reaching for
me. “Wait—don’t move me till I check
myself out.” I feel at my ribs, very
palpable under the cloth. No
fractures. I grope gingerly at my
neck. All in line. Reflexes kept my head from banging against
anything. “I’m okay,” I say, and let
Tanjin and Kiril help me sit up. “Just
banged up a bit—but who isn’t these days?” I try to laugh, licking blood off my lip. And
then suddenly they all fall away from me, everything falls away, even the
rocks, even the mountains. I walk in a
city. I sway on high heels, liking the
tap, tap, tap. I admire the
architecture, the bright colors in the shops.
The scent of chocolate leads me to that world-class confectionary that
my contact told me about. I feel right
at home, here—a lovely refuge from too many primitive missions. I know I’m going to like Vanikke... “Don’t feel at home, Zanne!” I shout, my
heart pounding. “What?”
Kiril asks. “Who’s Zanne?” I
grab Kiril. “She’s not safe! The mission’s not what she thinks. It’s not
just trade and politics, something that she can sort out and go home in time
for spring. She...it...what am I talking
about?” Dizziness nearly overwhelms me. “It’s
okay,” Tanjin says, without needing to understand what I don’t understand,
myself. “Nobody’s safe. Come on, Deirdre.” And he helps me to my feet. (“Somebody’s not safe,” Jake murmurs, right
in the middle of chemistry class. “Who?” I ask, helping myself to the stinky carbolic
solution, ignoring the weird sensation that something inside me just went twang. “I...I don’t remember,” he says. “We linked, once, but...something blocks the
old connection. I can’t warn...whomever. Something in me tried a...a backdoor way, but
found it all messed up, just...no.” He
starts trembling all over, and I feel oddly shaky, myself. “Just can’t go there,” he says helplessly. I put the acid and base together in the wrong order and
it bubbles all over everything, hissing and staining as it goes. “Can we deal with this later, Jake?” “We’ll have to,” he says, and helps me mop up.) (Suddenly, right here in the chocolate shop, I feel
unsafe. I lick my lip nervously and
glance around. People laugh, sharing
malts or brownies or chocolate fondue—nothing to fear here. Little lalique hearts in a deep rosy pink
dot the walls. Why do they look ominous
to me, like frowning, staring eyes? I glance down at my own dessert. Into the chocolate frosting I discover that I
have incised, “Deirdre’sPlatonicMarriage”. What’n’earth?) (Suddenly Jake smiles.
“It’s not all about fear,” he says as he gets down on his knees to
scrub. “I know,” I say, surprising myself to hear the
words. “Perfect love casts out fear.”) “Easy,” Tanjin says,
catching me when I start to slip again.
“Your shoulder’s got a funny angle to it.” “Oh?” Then I see how it hangs. “Oh.
The old dislocation. Didn’t
notice. Will you help me pop it back
into place?” “You just tell me what to
do, and I’ll do it.” I show him how,
gasp and cry and then laugh at how it does and doesn’t and does and doesn’t
hurt, as he binds my arm. Then he
circles my waist with one arm while the other helps me climb, almost an
extension of myself. (“And whatever it is, it doesn’t follow the pattern that
he fears.” “Who’s he?” I ask. Jake stares straight out the door as the Headmaster
passes by. “I have no idea.”) Wednesday, August 26, 2708 I can feel the climate
change almost step by step as we descend into the warm, moist, welcoming gorge,
a sheltered crack between mountains that leads us back to Koboros, aligned east
to west (odd as that may be in this range) so that it gets maximum sun despite its steepness. I watch snow dance high above us, falling on
the peaks, yet not quite reaching here. Ah, sweet prospect of
refuge! My heart soars to see an end to
fear, so that I almost feel buoyed up in flight. Of course Rashid will
certainly ground us all. I kind of look
forward to that, actually, to lay down this constant jangling of the nerves
that substitutes for energy. But then I
think of the darkness lurking behind the sun, and what monsters might lie in
wait for those who sleep, and I dread the crash that surely must follow. As soon as the roofs of
Koboros come into sight Kiril and Lufti run ahead, though children who’ve slept
one night in a week have no business running anywhere. Tanjin sighs, somewhere between relief and
fear. Me, I whistle “Safe?” down to the
ghost-town and listen for “Safe!” to waft back up. Now—do I know for sure that
Rashid did the actual whistling? All
bird-calls sound the same from any lips.
Government soldiers could have captured him and tortured the whole code
out of him... “Deirdre?” I stare up from the ground at Malcolm. This morning’s leaf wore off faster than I
counted on—all of a sudden. “Is it
safe?” I rasp from cracking lips, only now realizing that I’ve been forgetting
to drink water. He bends down to me and
fear seizes my heart. “How do I know
you’re not disguised to look like Malcolm?” “Shhh, shhh,” says the man
as he picks me up in his big, soft arms.
I struggle feebly, hampered by my dislocation, but soon shoving against
such solid bulk wears me out. I fall
back against his cushioned breast, feel his heartbeat steady through the cloth,
and surrender to the lulling rhythm of his steps as he carries me to the
infirmary.
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