Lakhoni (35 page)

 
Lakhoni emerged from the
dimness of the slave barracks into the shadow of the great mountain. The sun
had almost fully disappeared behind the mountains now, leaving the sky bright
but the city in the strange darkness. The temple. The Bonaha and his group had
made it back to the city not long before him. Long enough, of course, to
convince the city that it was under attack. They must have gone to the temple.
Had Shelu moved Alronna into the temple last night in preparation for today’s
treachery?

That
had to be it. Lakhoni stepped away from the barracks quickly, aiming for the
nearest door into the temple. Before he made it across the alley, the door
opened outward, disgorging several servants. Lakhoni got a look inside before
one of the servants closed the heavy wooden door. He counted maybe three people
in the kitchen, working furiously. Too empty. He needed to find a different way
in where he wouldn’t be noticed.

Arriving
at the corner at the front of the temple, Lakhoni saw at least a hundred
soldiers standing in orderly ranks with a shouting man on horseback between
them and the compound doors. The mounted man’s sash indicated that he was a
commander. Each soldier carried a long spear and a sword of metal.

The
front door won’t work
.

Lakhoni
turned casually and walked back the way he had come. He still hadn’t been on
the other side of the compound, in what he expected was another alley like this
one.

The
noises of the man shouting orders faded. Lakhoni picked up his pace.

Rounding
the back corner of the temple, Lakhoni scanned the area. Nobody paid him any
attention. He crossed over the canal and came upon the corner of the temple. He
slowed, casting his senses before him. He detected movement—lots of it. He
stopped and lowered the crate of leather scraps, working his shoulder carefully
to ease the muscles there. Raised voices of men came to him from down the
alley. He felt and heard the thudding of feet on the ground.

He
eased forward, stealing a look down the alley.

What
he saw made him nearly jerk his head back. But he fought the urge and made his
retreat as natural and smooth as possible.

More
soldiers, possibly another hundred, were gathering in the alley in ranks,
facing the front of the compound. These men carried bows and bristling quivers,
their bows already strung and hooked across their chest.

Lakhoni
turned, scouring the spacious area between the back of the temple and the back
wall of the compound. The horse stables were quiet now. Nobody entered or
exited the servants’ quarters at the far end.

He’d
have to use the canal.

As
he approached the rushing water, he followed its path with his eyes. It ran
under the back wall of the compound, spanned the hundred or so feet of distance
between the wall and the temple, and ran under the temple wall. One of the huge
stones that made up the temple’s exterior straddled the rushing water.

He
stood at the edge of the water and stopped as a servant hurried out of a back
door of the temple and into the servants’ quarters.

Lakhoni
glanced around one last time. Nobody in sight. He dropped into the water, all
thoughts scoured from his mind in the sudden, icy cold. His feet hit the
bottom, but were quickly yanked out from under him by the current. He had time
for a quick breath before the water closed over his head.

The
frigid water, at least, was clean. But his body filled with the noise and
pressure of it. His leather trousers grew heavy. He oriented himself so he
could lead with his feet but still see where he was going.

Everything
went dark. He was under the temple wall. His feet hit hard against something,
lessening the impact as he crumpled against it. Most of his air exploded out of
him. Panic crept into the blackness in his mind. He fought it back, searching
with his hands.

A
series of bars blocked the way. He used them to pull himself up, praying there
would be space—

Pain
flared at the top of his head as it hit stone. He pulled back down. No! His
chest ignited with pain and pressure. He eased back up, letting out his breath
slowly, trying to prolong the time he had left. The top of his head hit the
stone again, this time without the pain. There! He felt something different up
there. He tilted his head back, easing his face upward.

Cool
wind washed down from his forehead to his nose and mouth. He filled his lungs
with the sweet taste. He could make out nothing, although there was still some
light that came from the entrance to the water tunnel.

He
considered his predicament. Metal bars kept him from going any farther into the
temple. And the current would probably prevent him from going back the way he
had come. The canal was far too wide for him to be able to brace himself on
either side and make progress against the rushing water that way.

He
arched back again and sucked more air, fighting to calm his heart and keep
panic at bay.
Not going to die here.
He sought his center.

It
wouldn’t come. Was it the water? The temperature? That he could see nothing?

The
frigid mountain water was all he knew. It swept across and through him, making
his skin feel like ice. For a moment, he knew if he stayed there long enough,
he would simply dissolve into the current. Pressure on all sides. The steady
thrum of the current filling his ears. The drumbeat of the water
hitting . . .

Hitting
what?

No,
that was his heart beating in his head, at his temples, and behind his closed
eyes.

He
could let go. He wouldn’t die, but fade. It would be a Dance with Water.

A
long, slow breath in, here in the current, and he would become a part of this
stream and find his way to the vast ocean. Ceaseless pressure, skin like ice,
the water vibrating with life. The beat of his heart, slowing.

The
beat. Like a village drum. Lakhoni latched onto that beat. He pulled himself
toward it. The water fought him, seeking to own him.

No.
He would not be taken.

He
listened with every part of his being to that beat. Sticky darkness wanted to
hold him. He struggled, pushing the water’s clinging embrace away. All in a
moment, he crossed over . . . something, and the water’s hold
broke.

He
pushed up, taking in  life-saving air from the space between water and
stone. He blinked, trying to clear his head and cast off the water’s insistent
embrace.
Fathers, what . . . what was that?
How long had
he been down here?

He
had to get out. Get to Alronna.

He
focused on his heartbeat again and found his center after long minutes. Calm
filled him, the final vestiges of that dark cloud that had filled him
dissipating.

Filling
his lungs, Lakhoni submerged and explored the metal bars. He counted eight.
They were nearly as tall as him. They were thin enough that he could wrap a
hand all the way around one. Each was buried deep in the earth of the canal bed
and also in the stone that was the ceiling of the tunnel. Returning to the
surface regularly, Lakhoni found that the bars were spaced so that he could get
an arm and a shoulder through, but his chest was too big to fit.

He
tried each space. All were too small.

Maybe
he could make one bigger.

He
tested each bar for movement. The third from the right gave way a little. This
one moved a bit in the bed of the canal.

Hope
flared.

Taking
a deeper breath, Lakhoni used the loose bar to pull himself down to the canal
bed. Completely blind, he scrabbled at the dirt, trying to loosen some and
allow more space for the bar to move. Many minutes passed as he dug, pulled
himself up, grabbed air, pulled himself down, and dug some more.

He
tried the bar again. More movement, but only a little. He inserted an arm
through the space and tried to squeeze through. Still too tight.

This
was too slow.

He
dug into his pouch and pulled his dagger out. Once free of the cloth, the
dagger was nearly stolen by the current, but he caught it tightly before it
could slip away.

Breathe,
pull down, dig at the hard earth, pull up, breathe. Again and again.

He
tested the bar again. There was much more movement now. He tried to get through
again. Still too tight! He let all the air out of his lungs and tried again.
That was a little better, but still not enough.

But
if the bar was moving on the bottom, the space should be wider on the bottom.

Lakhoni
replaced his dagger. Down again. The current pulled much harder now; he
couldn’t position himself to slide an arm through first.

He
turned his head to the side and tried again, pressure building in his chest.

There!
Now his shoulders were through and he had to wriggle and push on the canal bed
with his feet to move. The bars squeezed tightly on his back and chest. He
wriggled, bubbles escaping from his nose. A little farther.

Suddenly
he could move no more. Not forward or back. Lights flashed behind his eyes as
the weight of the temple pushed down on him. He wriggled furiously, kicking as
hard as he could.

Stuck.

Clouds
of panic built. He squirmed and kicked in a frenzy of motion, losing much of
his air. Movement! He released the air in his lungs in a painful explosion,
kicking and shoving and pushing.

The
bar scraped painfully on his chest bone and he slid through, suddenly and
instantly free of the confines of the iron. The current caught him and before
he could stop himself, he sucked in water. Red agony seared his throat and
chest. He scrabbled around, finding what he hoped was the canal bed and pushing
up hard.

Fighting
the need to breathe, Lakhoni twisted his body trying to get his face to the
surface.

His
head hit the stone ceiling. More pain flared, but nothing compared to the death
that filled his chest. He turned and tried to slow his forward motion with his
hands on the ceiling, tried to get his face above the water.

Suddenly
warm air. A thought that he should try to stay quiet flashed through his mind
but was swept away by coughs. Blinking rapidly, Lakhoni found himself being
carried by the canal’s current out from the tunnel and into a dimly lit room.
He struck out desperately for the nearest bank, caught a glimpse of a wood
stick or pole hanging over the water, and grabbed hold. He clung to the pole,
hacking and sucking in air, praying that nobody was near. The current still
buffeted him, but he was able to stay in place now.

He
was able to focus after a few moments. The pressure in his chest eased.

The
temple.

I’m
in
.

He
needed to get out of the water. Warmth felt like such a long time ago.

He
took stock of his surroundings, finding that if he angled his body a certain
way the current would push him and his lifeline around and closer to the bank.
Once at the bank, he found ladder rungs embedded in the bank of the canal. The
bank here was made of the same stone as the rest of the temple. He cast a quick
look around the room, seeking movement in the shadows at the corners or in
doorways. Nothing. Had the Fathers blessed him to arrive in an abandoned or
rarely-used room?

He
clambered up the rungs, his fingers stiff with cold. He lay on the floor, also
stone, for a long while, listening. Faint voices and other noises reached his
ears as he lay there. But none of the noises grew louder, heralding somebody’s
approach.

Lakhoni
would have lain there longer, letting his body warm up in the pleasant air and
his clothes dry more, but the urgency of his task filled him. Alronna would be
with the Bonaha and Shelu.

He
explored the room quickly, noting long, narrow windows that admitted pale light
and wide, tall doorways on opposite walls. These doorways had no doors. He
wondered how he could have made all that noise coming out of the canal without
detection. As he did so, he realized that the noise he had been submerged in
was even louder in this room. The rushing river water in the canal sang an
echoing maelstrom of noise in this room, the stone walls magnifying the volume.

First
the canal had tried to kill him and now it had likely saved him from detection.

Lakhoni
quickly determined that the room served as a water supply room. Stacks of wood
and clay buckets reached the height of his head. These buckets had handles on
them that swiveled up and could be hooked on the hanging stick that had helped
him escape the canal’s current. That was obviously how the servants filled the
buckets without getting wet every time.

The
room’s laundry function became obvious when he saw that part of the canal had
been redirected into a steaming pool, with piles of ash-soap and stacks of
scrubbing boards nearby. Piles of woven brown cloth were stacked neatly on
shelves. He tried to figure out how the water was heated, but could find no
clue.