IN THE MOUNTAINS OF FIRE by Dolores J. Nurss
Volume VII: The Burning
Chapter 3 Into the Unknown
Sunday, March 14, 2709 (I climb where no one has ever climbed before. It just dawned on me. No one else had any reason to go down to
where the car crashed. No one else had
any need to climb up out again. Perhaps
no human being in the history of the world has ever clasped these rocks, or
seen these formations up close. That
honor falls to me. Me alone.) I can hardly wait to leave.
I fidget through the mass led by the captive army chaplain, retained for
that purpose. It gives me no comfort,
for I'm not sure we worship quite the same God anymore, though he tries to keep
his sermon as neutral as possible, his head bowed, making no eye contact. How could he understand about the layers of
ghosts upon this place? I take no
communion here; my dead would surely choke me on it if I did. As soon as it ends, we shoulder our packs and disappear between
the hills. Now we take a way that I have
never set foot on before, though I have often gazed down upon it from the
air. That's more than the rest can say,
so it falls on me to lead my band across this high desert plateau. From the air it looks absolutely barren, and
straightforward enough to cross, but down here we see the verdancy that the
monsoon rains have stirred to life. We
move through it carefully, hardly rustling at all, for fresh new leaves can
mask old thorns. But it does my heart
good to see a greenery without any fire in it. I wonder if Lufti picks up my thoughts? For he caresses a plant (carefully) and
murmurs, "God doesn't speak in our burning bushes anymore." Monday, March 15, 2709 I have hiked through desert before, among the many other climes of
Til Territories. Different plants,
though, different terrain, even the color of the rocks distinguished from the
arid places of my youth. Yet I feel like
I've gone home and left all war behind me, hiking at an easy pace, chatting and
laughing with the others when we pause for meals, or commenting softly on whatever
seems most fair or noteworthy: a strangely swerving spire of rock, a contorted
scrub, a flower, a herd of hind pausing in the distance to regard us. I find myself wondering what Jake might think
of this, or Randy think of that, or Jesse…no, not Jesse anymore. Yet no one in the whole wide world knows precisely where we are
right now. No gun knows which way to
point to find us, for the armies see no reason to come up here. No orders can reach us. Only the furtive little creatures spy us, the
lizards and the birds and the furry things that rustle away as we pass, and
they will not betray us. The foxes have
tawnies of their own to chase and will not trouble us. (At last I reach my own sweet cave. Home!
I look around me, smiling. I
start up the little stove and get some water bubbling for my tea, and suddenly
tears surprise me. I feel so glad to be
here that I can hardly bear it, more glad than I once felt striding into the
too-familiar family mansion. I weep for
happiness and also for grief, that I should come to this, grateful for a bare
little lair in the rocks to shield me from my fears. And yet...and yet, for love of Auntie, I climbed down a high and
treacherous cliff, alone, in the middle of a lightning-storm, to pay my last
respects. I am no coward. I just, for a little while, developed a
phobia of guns. It seemed impassible at
first. But I can scale it now, I
know. For love of Auntie Soskia. And Pawl.
Jialong. Mehti. And love of country, too. I know what to do, now. I
know precisely, now, how to go about it.
I have had nothing to do but think for quite a while. All other obligations met, tomorrow I will
act.) Tuesday, March 16, 2709 I lie on my back and regard the stars above. Oh, the heavens look thick with them
tonight! You don't see them this bright
in the misty Altraus coast. But up here, with only the thinnest veil of air
between us and them, no city lights, no country fires, and few clouds reaching
up this high, nothing competes with their splendor. Lufti soon snuggles close against me, gazing up with fearful
fascination. "We're in their country,
now," he whispers. "I hope they have
forgiven me." Absentmindedly I stroke his arm.
"It's Lent, honey. They must
forgive." "And sparks must fly upward, no matter who spies down below. We have to keep the fires burning." And he gets up and goes off with Kiril. Sometime after, somewhere far off in the
bushes, I hear a cry like a wounded creature leaped on by a fox. But I know that that's not really what I
hear. (Surveillance today. Just
surveillance, I tell my quivering knees, my too-tight shoulders as I cling to
rocks and slip down the gravel in the cracks between them, trying not to make a
sound, or at least no sound uncommon to these treacherous slopes, trying to
stay as invisible as possible. All too soon I reach that last tricky swell of rock, inch my way
around it, terrified for a moment because for a brief, eternal period I can see
the cave opening and know that anyone who chances to glace this way can see me…but
nobody looks up from their routines. Finally I nestle into a fold between that boulder and the final
jut of earth before the cave itself. From
my perch outside I can hear them in there, so little stone between them and me,
and the wide cave mouth within touching range.
I hear the stacking of crates, and the conversation. "The second shipment so soon!" I hear
somebody say. "The smugglers have earned
their pay." Have they indeed? So the
rebels didn't just take this base over?
The smugglers collaborate? Of
course–how else would they know which car to attack? Oh, I could chew through this rock right now! I could drink raw lava, lap it up like blood! Be a man, Cherone. Slip in,
hoping that nobody glances your way, dart behind the boxes. Hold your breath while The Freak opens up a
crate—don't so much as twitch an eyebrow!
Smell the released chemical scent.
Listen to the talk of what these crates contain. And read the labels closest to you, on the
piles of gray tanks like a cache of giant's bullets—so different and yet so
useful. Put two and two together and
make your plan. Slip out again before the
inspection comes too close. Cower like a
coney, sure, after it's all over, and wait till the traitor heart stops
pounding so hard, before making the perilous climb around the bend of icy
stone, no chance to do anything so noisy as to drive a piton into rock. Pray that the wind blows snow into the
telltale footprints, pray that nobody looks this way, pray to have the nerve to
do what has to happen next.) Wednesday, March 17, 2709 Our path descends off the plateau.
We pass through cloud-forest, now, an abrupt shift from desert to dripping
moisture. Tonight we will unfurl sheets
to gather dew, to drip from strings into the same vessels that we used to catch
the rain before, and so replenish our
canteens. I'm glad I had these made
before we left, and gladder still that Til has taught me some skills, at least,
that I can't use for killing And still we see no sign of human beings beyond ourselves. My knowledge of the land grows less certain,
but I have a compass and a general bearing; I need only figure out how to get
from here to there without the slightest path.
Gravel still stretches between each growing thing, for what lives here
gets by on mist alone, yet still it grows more thickly, comparatively speaking,
than what we passed before. Strange
shapes loom in and out of the fog, and sudden rustles or flappings of wings
burst out as we go, startling us as we have startled them. "Sorcerers must live here," Lufti says, his hand stealing to mine
and holding on tight, and for once we all agree with him. "What about it, Damien?" I ask our bard. "Know any songs or tales of cloud forest
magicians?" "Something like that," he says, his face gone as pale as it can
get, "But I will not repeat them here.
They count it insolent to mention such things lightly in their
hearing." And not another word can we
get from him the whole day long. (I have spent the whole day long lying on my mat, hardly able to
squeeze the least movement from my limbs.
I have no sickness for excuse anymore. Yet my nerve hasn't failed.
Not that. I crept into their very
lair! I know that I have
conquered my fear. It's one thing to say that one wants to kill. Oh, one can burn with the desire, and believe
in it, but it's another thing entirely to actually do it. Unlike the rebels, I am not a beast. But yes, now I know exactly what to do.) |
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