Duele dived into the pool and swam down, surfacing when he had finished his search of the bottom and heaving himself back out of the water. His face was streaked where his paint had run, his eyes were narrowed and he seemed to struggle to get his words out.
'The hand is there.'
'Then the statue can be remade,' said Auum. But his relief was short-lived.
'Part of the thumb is missing. It is not in the pool.'
Auum sat back on his haunches, staring at the ruined stream that fell uselessly into the pool from the smashed pipe under Yniss's wrist. The flow was wrong.
'Then we will find it,' he said. 'Search the temple. Search the bodies, search everywhere.'
Outside, a low growl was followed by a scream, cut off abruptly.
'The ClawBound will help,' said Auum.
'And if we can't find it?' asked Duele.
'Then we will take one of the strangers alive. And he will be but the first to pay for what they have done here.'
Auum pushed himself to his feet. The Al-Arynaar would soon arrive. And more TaiGethen cells. Much could be done to cleanse the temple and raise the hand from its resting place but the statue would not be complete until the thumb was returned. And until then, Yniss would forsake them.
Auum felt a chill dread creep over his body. He knew the writings. He knew the consequences. A tear ran down his cheek.
Chapter 18
Captain Yron had been frozen in terror, suddenly sure he'd never truly experienced the emotion before. Originally, he'd planned to make their escape once the temple was attacked, but the attack had been so swift and sure he'd kept Ben-Foran hidden by the scattered bones of the elves. At the same time, he'd heard a big cat advancing along the path.
He could just about see it in the shadows. The panther was fifty yards from him and directly behind it stood an elf whose face was painted half white. It was the only part of him Yron could see. They had moved towards the apron; there had been a commotion, a scream and the panther had pounced. Yron had closed his eyes, hearing his man's cries cut off, and had prayed that he and Ben would be spared such a fate.
Now, with all four elves and the panther in the temple, or at least very near it, he signalled to Ben and they moved. Rising to their feet, the squawking of birds masking at least some of their noise, he took the most careful pace of his life, his foot coming down soundlessly. He indicated that Ben should step directly into his prints and moved off, all the time waiting for the whisper or wail of one of their throwing crescents or the thud of a bowstring.
With agonising slowness, he reached the path his trailblazers had hacked through the forest and started down it, still staring at the ground immediately in front of him, hardly daring to breathe. He could feel the sweat pouring down his back and face, he saw it drip onto the ground beneath his chin. Over and over, he told himself to keep calm, to resist the desire to run. They had to get out of earshot before they did and he had no real idea how far that might be.
Pausing and looking back over his shoulder, he saw Ben-Foran's drawn and pale face. It too was slick with sweat and the young soldier reflexively clasped and unclasped his hand around the pommel of his sword. Yron raised his eyebrows, Ben replying with a nod. They walked on.
Just a little further, he told himself, just a little further.
The path was alive; countless ants scurried to and fro. He was careful to step over them as well as he could. Tiny though they were individually, they packed painful bites and he didn't need them up his legs and in his boots. It was impossible to find silent footing now. The debris of the crude path lay on the ground and cracked beneath his feet, the reports like thunder in his ears.
He stopped again and looked up. The light was going fast. He couldn't see the sky but knew cloud must be boiling up from the south. He let Ben-Foran catch up and whispered, 'When you feel the first raindrop, run. Run as fast as you can for as long as you can. Don't stop until you think you're going to die.'
'Where are we going?'
'Towards the camp, then east to the river, any river. We've got to throw them off the scent or we'll be dead before nightfall.'
Thunder rolled in the distance. The humidity climbed. Yron was soaked beneath his clothes. Rain would be refreshing. It came suddenly and very heavy, thudding into the canopy and driving through. A drop landed on the ground in front, immediately joined by a thousand others. He ran.
With Ben behind him, he ran faster than he ever had, fear driving his limbs. Though he tried to listen for noise, he could hear nothing but the sounds of his feet slapping on the ground, the rain drumming overhead and his breathing loud and fast. It was exhilarating, uplifting. Ahead the path was already being overgrown, and he brushed aside lianas, creepers and spiders' webs. All around him, he knew the smaller animals would be seeking shelter while the larger ignored the deluge, accepting it with stoicism.
Sloths, monkeys, monitor lizards, tapir. All would sit it out wherever they were while he and Ben sprinted past, heedless of root and low branch, of striking snake and angry spider. Because what was behind them, Yron knew not how far, was infinitely more dangerous. Distance alone wouldn't save them; distance and a river in flood just might.
Calling on everything he had left, Yron dragged another breath into his protesting lungs and ran on. Rebraal wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep. He knew he was lying down but had no idea if he was floating or not. He fought his mind, tried to drive it to think, but all he got were snatches of scenes of which he wasn't even sure he'd been a part. Of ClawBound carrying him. Of Mercuun crying out. Of the rain pouring across his face and of people crowding, looking down on him and frowning.
He was inside, he thought. It was dark. But maybe that was because he couldn't see. He felt hot. Very hot. He could smell the scents of menispere, casimir and of pokeweed mixing in the still air. And he'd felt the touch of a spell, too, though he might have dreamed that also. It was so hard to tell.
A shaft of light stabbed through the darkness and he realised at least he wasn't blind. A face swam into view in front of his and leant over. It was fuzzy and he didn't recognise it but he could see the smile that didn't mask the concern. She spoke words but he couldn't hear them, only a murmur as if he was underwater. He tried to move his head but his neck was locked and pain scorched down his back and across his shoulders.
She pressed her arms on his chest and shook her head. She was quite old, he thought. He wanted to speak. He knew his mouth was open and moving but whatever tumbled out was not understood. Maybe they were both speaking underwater. The random thought amused him.
Cool on his forehead. Wet. He opened eyes he hadn't realised he'd closed and saw her dabbing him with a cloth. It felt good but the burning soon came back. He wanted to touch her but his arms were leaden. He wanted her to know he was thankful but he was locked inside himself.
A second figure joined them. Another woman. Younger. She laid her hands on his shoulder. She was talking too, and as she did the ache that hammered there diminished to nothing and a gentle warmth suffused his body. He thought he saw them withdraw but then wasn't sure if they'd been there at all.
He closed his eyes and the nightmares came. The TaiGethen used water from the pool itself to cleanse the temple. Auum was possessed of an anger he could not quench as he scrubbed at the floor with palm leaves soaked in lime. The juice stung his fingers but he ignored the irritation. Every hint of stranger blood had to go. Every boot mark, every careless scratch had to be expunged.