Bek clung to Dracup’s leg. “They fall out with the long man, boss. He want to take the cross away. They say no, it belongs here. They will not allow him to have it. Long man says they are wrong — he is faithful to the Korumak Tanri, to Kadesh. And so should they be. But boss—” Bek grasped Dracup’s arm, “—they think you want the same — they—”
A priest appeared at Dracup’s side and struck Bek across the face. The boy reeled away into the darkness. Dracup’s hands were bound and he was pushed forward. Mukannishum groaned as he was lifted and carried to a low door recessed in the rock immediately behind the altar. Dracup was prompted to follow, and ducked to clear the rough ceiling of the passageway. Hands pushed at his back and shoulders so that he almost stumbled and fell several times as he attempted to negotiate the steep and uneven route chosen for them by the priests. Priests? What sort of priests carry scimitars under their vestments?
He wondered what had happened to Bek, but couldn’t turn to look in case he did himself an injury on the ceiling or the irregular path. He could hear Mukannishum shouting somewhere up ahead — whether in fear or pain he couldn’t say — and felt his breath hot in his chest as the pace increased. They evidently wanted him somewhere in a hurry. Presently he felt cooler air on his face and was able to straighten his back. He looked up. The passageway was open to the stars, and with the light given by these and a full moon Dracup was at least able to walk without fear of falling. The priests resumed their plaintive hymns as they walked, a spiritual, mournful refrain with a slow, deliberate tempo. The cadences of the melody boded ill for his future. Dracup looked around in desperation but there was nothing to see, just the shadow of the mountain, the silhouettes of his escort and Mukannishum’s arachnid body writhing in protest somewhere up ahead.
The song finished abruptly and he was forced to a halt by a firm grip on his arm and the back of his neck. The escort fanned out in a semicircle; Mukannishum was unceremoniously dumped on the ground like so much unwanted baggage. He screamed as his mutilated legs made contact with the earth. Dracup winced and quashed the instinctive response to help. There was nothing he could do. Two priests grabbed hold of Mukannishum’s legs, an action that drew an unearthly, high-pitched shriek from the prostrate man’s lips, but the cry was cut short as his arms were held and he was swung like a pendulum, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. Perplexed, Dracup wondered what they were doing. Then he looked down and realized they were standing on the edge of a pit; he could see its sandy coloured floor clearly in the moonlight. A few scattered rocks broke the even surface, along with a smattering of dark, scrubby grass and a squat, grey tree trunk fixed in the centre.
Dracup watched impotently as Mukannishum was released into the air and fell helplessly, arms and legs cartwheeling in protest, into the void. He hit the ground with a muffled groan and lay still. Then the nearest priest turned to Dracup. He tensed his muscles but knew it was a hopeless resistance; quickly overpowered by lean, black arms he was cast after Mukannishum like a puppet. Dracup tried to relax and roll, but mistimed it and hit the ground hard. The impact drove the breath from his body in a lung-emptying whoosh of air. His head followed his body, and gravity did the rest. The world uncoiled through a reverse telescope and the final pinprick of light went out like a snuffed candle.
There was dirt in his mouth. Dracup coughed and spat. He moved his head gingerly. His neck worked — that was good. He pushed himself up on one arm and tried to sit up. He fell back at the stabbing pain in his lower chest. That hurt a lot, and so did his back, but he could move his legs and feet so it was probably just bruising — plus maybe a cracked rib or two. He tried again a minute or so later, and eventually heaved himself into a sitting position. Above him the moon shone in the empty sky, empty but for the millions of stars stretched across the void.
It was very quiet. He scanned from right to left around the perimeter of the pit. No inquisitive faces peered down at him. No sonorous chanting broke the stillness. The priests had left him for the time being. They must be pretty confident I can’t get out. Dracup supported his ribcage carefully with one arm and attempted to get to his feet. He made it on the third try and shuffled across to the wall of the pit. It was sheer. And crumbling. There was a small, stepped projection just out of reach. He stretched for it and cried out in pain. Even if it held his weight he didn’t have a hope of reaching it. He placed his back against the pit wall and eased himself slowly onto the sandy floor. He was very thirsty — another problem he didn’t want to dwell on. First, get out, then—
A soft moan startled him. Mukannishum. He had completely forgotten him. Dracup was horrified that the man had just been left to bleed to death. He flexed his muscles to get up when another sound rolled across the walls of the pit. His blood froze and he flattened himself against the uneven tuff, all thoughts of movement abandoned. Moments later a large shadow detached itself from the base of the tree and moved languidly towards Mukannishum’s prostrate form. Dracup watched in impotent horror. Now he understood the priests’ careless departure. The shadow gained substance as it stopped to sniff the air for signs of danger. It was an enormous animal, bigger than the Indian lions he had known as a child. This was a Barbary lion — black-maned, rare. A protected species. Dracup’s bladder tightened with an uncomfortable pressure. He wasn’t sure if the animal had missed him or if its curiosity was aroused to a greater degree by the bleeding form of Mukannishum. Dracup bit his lip. He watched the lion nuzzle Mukannishum half-heartedly and then move away to the other side of the pit where it began a ritual cleaning of paws and mane. Dracup let out his breath slowly. It’s not hungry — yet. Dracup turned his attention back to the pit wall. He looked for a tool he could use to chisel out a foothold, but the pit floor was bare except for a scattering of dead branches and the odd fragment of tuff.
Mukannishum was moaning again, trying to move. Dracup wanted to warn him to keep still, but any signal he made was as likely to attract the lion’s attention. It had ceased grooming and was staring fixedly at Mukannishum. The animal’s paw was raised in mid-air, its posture reminiscent of a domestic cat. Dracup willed the injured man into stillness. With a softer groan, Mukannishum’s head sank back onto the sand. Dracup hoped he had fainted. The lion remained in its fixed position for a long thirty seconds, then resumed its ablutions, lapping its great tongue across tawny, powerful paws.
Dracup waited. A faint iridescence was creeping over the night sky and the stars were becoming less distinct. Soon, pale beams of orange light began to pick their way into Dracup’s prison, deepening the colour of the pit walls from brownish-red to deep crimson. He worried less about the visual exposure daylight would bring and more about the problem of water — or the lack of it. The heat of the day would be fearsome in his exposed position. He had lost his hat somewhere along the way and had nothing to protect himself except the shirt he was wearing. About the lion he worried the least. It would have attacked by now if hunger had been a priority, and he guessed it would sleep for most of the day until the cool of the evening and an empty stomach prompted it into action.
The increased visibility had revealed more about the nature of the pit. It was a man-made affair, he was sure of that. The circumference was too regular in shape to be natural. The tree had been provided for shade and claw sharpening. However, it was not the only source of shade. Beyond Mukannishum’s body a shadowy opening broke the even tint of the pit wall. It looked like a tunnel entrance. On the other hand, maybe it was just a cool enclave provided for the lion’s comfort with no connection to upper levels. Dracup made saliva and moistened his lips sparingly. If the lion chose to settle by the tree he might get the chance to find out. The sun’s reddish-yellow disk appeared above the artificial horizon of the pit’s perimeter and he felt its warm promise on his face. The seriousness of his position clarified his thinking and he made a quick decision. Before Mukannishum died, as he surely would, he had to capitalize on his unexpected opportunity to interrogate someone with a direct link to Natasha. Movement had its risks, but then so did continued ignorance. Keeping a close eye on the lion, Dracup began to inch his way around the pit, ignoring the aches and stabs of protest from his body.