Читать книгу Jovan's Gaze - Aaron Ph.D. Dov - Страница 9

I cannot say how long I lay there. I felt the coolness of the water as it made its way down my throat. The feeling spread outward from my throat into every part of my body. My arms seemed to regain their strength, and my legs could function once more. My vision began to come into focus, though only somewhat. I was still desperately hungry, and the hunger burned in my stomach. As much as I was enjoying the feeling of water upon my parched form, I knew that food would have to be next.

Whomever left this strange vat here, the people who had written this strange writing upon its side, they would have food as well. Hopefully.

The water splashed down on my face. I rolled onto my stomach, and the water ran from my forehead into my eyes. I did not mind. The feeling was truly wonderful, as though I were laying in a rejuvenating bath. I pushed myself onto my knees, bumping my head on the underside of the vat as I did. I laughed. I was giddy. Water. Life. I was going to live.

I crawled out from under the vat and stood up, using the vat as support. The vat was metal, and the sides were warm from the sun. How then did the water remain cool? I would have to ask the owners, when I found them. My hand glided upon the surface of the vat. The paint felt slightly blistered, likely from the heat. Still, I could not discern how the salt air had not rusted the vat's skin. I recalled time spent on the western coast. Anything metal rusted very quickly unless cared for. Our captain was sure to remind us to clean our weapons every day, lest the salt have its way with them. I supposed the paint on this vat was different, mixed to fight off the rust.

I looked about me, looking for some other evidence of supplies. There was nothing to the south. Moving around the vat, keeping myself in the shade of the tree, I looked northward.

'Ah," I said aloud, "there we go."

Just a moment's walk away from the vat was a small hut. It was raised on stilts, much like the vat. It was small, and I doubted that more than a handful could fit in it. It was rectangular, elongated. There were stairs leading up from the sand, though no door was evident on the short edge where the stair led. What made the small, white hut oddest were the metal rods sticking out of the top. How many lightening rods did a single hut need? Were the storms on this coast so very fierce? Some were straight, other rods were coiled. Beside the rods, at the end of the hut's ceiling furthest from the stairs was a large dish facing upward. Several strands of black rope reached from a box under the dish, to the roof of the hut. I suppose they used the dish to catch rain water, though from this distance I could not see where it funneled into. The people who lived here would have to climb up to reach the water.

I moved closer to the hut, stripping away my jacket. I let the parched leather fall in the sand, leaving it were it fell. It was soaked in sweat, and now with water, and was parched beyond any real use. Besides, the cool mist of the sea felt good on my chest. I removed my other shoe, and let my feet warm themselves in the soothing sand. I could not even feel the blisters which I was sure covered my feet by now. Once I found food, I would tend to them.

Food came first.

The hut had no windows, and even close up, the stairs seemed to lead to nothing. I wondered if the entrance was around the other side, but then why put stairs here? I could see evidence of footfalls, two or three, where the tide had not washed them away. People in boots had been here recently, and all seemed to surround the stairs.

I climbed the three stairs, and glided my hand along the hut's wall. It was smooth, much like the vat. The paint was the same, with the same feel, as though slightly blistered, though smooth at the same time. As soon as my hand brushed over the hut wall to my left, there was an odd chirping sound. I stepped back a pace, unsure of what I had heard. That was no bird I knew of, and the hut itself seemed to do the chirping.

When the chirp did not return, I touched the wall again. There was another chirp. My fingers glided over the smooth wall with its odd blister-texture, and each pass elicited another chirp. I wondered what it was that caused it. I pressed my palm against the wall, feeling its coolness against my hand. The wall chirped again, a louder, longer pattern. Then the wall itself seemed to light up, as though a torch were hidden behind a window. I stepped back again, fearing a burn.

The wall where I had lit up began to glow, with small flickering lights of varying colors. An image of a hand appeared on the wall, glowing red. I looked to my hand, but it was unharmed. The image of the hand pulsed and glowed red. I set my hand to it, matching the red palm to my own flesh. The wall chirped again, and more frightening than that, it spoke to me!

"Eissa," a lithe, female voice spoke from the wall. It was high pitched, as though she were very young.

I backed away, startled.

"Eissa," the woman's voice spoke, its tone questioning. "Eissa. Oya?"

"Hello?" I replied. Where was this girl hiding?

"Eissa, Oya?" the voice repeated. "Ika donan ooreeya."

I shook my head. "I do not understand," I replied. "Where are you?"

"Ika donan ooreeya," the voice repeated. The voice seemed welcoming, yet at the same time, without feeling.

Was she hiding behind the wall? Was the wall really some sort of clever window? I had seen the Kronan mages use magic to hide entire fortresses. Was this hut similar?

I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me, and I remembered my main concern for the moment.

"I am hungry!" I croaked. "Do you have anything to eat?" I pleaded. "Please, I beg you, I have not eaten for days. Do you have anything you could spare?"

There was a pause. "Ika donan ooreeya."

I shook my head in frustration. I did not know the language. Its sound was not at all familiar. Theris had three languages. Esian, which everyone spoke, was the oldest of the three. Krona had its own twisted tongue, but it was only spoken by the mages who served the Dark Lord, and those who worked closest with them. It was an angry language, full of hate and bile. The third language was that of the fishermen, who had developed an entire language unto themselves, in order to help understand the ways and will of the sea. Somewhere buried under their bizarre words was Esian proper, but only a scholar could say where. This girl's language was not like those three, though it did remind me of the Kronan tongue ever so slightly.

"Please," I said slowly, carefully. "I need to eat. Will you help me?"

"Help?" the voice repeated back to me. The tone was questioning, as though to confirm that I had indeed asked for help.

"Yes!" I insisted. "Yes, help me. I need food."

The voice repeated two of my words. "Help. Food."

"Please," I said one last time, leaning against the wall to support myself. The water could only keep me going so long, without food.

"Oobah," the girl said evenly.

Then, without warning, the wall before me slid open. Where there had been no indication of a door at all, the wall simply slid away, to the right. There was a slight swishing sound, along with the grinding of sand. Inside the door, the hut was mostly dark. I held still, unsure of what to do.

The hut's darkness was not complete. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of lights inside. Most were small, like fireflies; greens, reds, blues, yellows. Some were steady, others came and went. And among these tiny fireflies were larger lights, squares that glowed brightly. Upon these lights, images danced. Most were full of symbols, lines, and other things I could not understand. One of the square lights, the one closest to the newly-appeared door, I saw an odd mirror-like image of myself, standing at the door. It was not really a mirror, but seemed as though it showed me the view from where my hand had touched the wall and lit it up. I was reminded of the spy-crows which our mages used. They watched the enemy, and their sight was shown to us through a special mage-woven tapestry hanging in the throne room.

I reached in and touched the lit square. It had the same odd texture as the spigot on the water vat. It was much like glass, with whatever was on the square somehow existing below the surface. When I touched the square, odd symbols and writing appeared on top of the not-reflection. A square formed around the image of my face, and words in the odd script of this place appeared around it, as though it were labeling me. I wondered what it said.

"Hello?" I spoke quietly, unsure of what awaited me, but hoping to see the girl with whom I spoke.

There was no response, and the small hut seemed empty.

I stepped into the hut itself. It was very dry inside. The air was warm, but not the harsh warmth of the sun. It was a more comfortable warmth, like the warmth found in the royal palace, where great furnaces sent heat out into the great halls through ducts built into the floors. I heard a constant hissing sound all around me, and wondered if that was the heat being blown about by something out of sight. I stepped in some more.

The floor was metal, though in places there were pads laid down. The material had traction, as though black sand had been glued to the floor. It hurt my blistered feet, so I stepped back onto the soothing coolness of the metal portions of the floor. I breathed a sigh of relief as the pain receded once more.

The entire inside of the hut seemed lined with the fireflies and the lit squares. All of them seemed to dance with light, drawings and symbols that moved by so fast, I doubted I would be able to read them even if I understood what they meant. They were simply too fast. I wondered what sort of people could follow so much.

The lights seemed arranged in rows along the walls, stopping about half way to the floor, where a small counter jutted out. There were odd looking chairs about the place. Each chair rested on three small beams which met under the chair. The beams' ends had small wheels. From the center of the beams, a single metal bar rose up to support the chair's seat and back. They were much like the chairs the mages used in their libraries, so they could move aged bodies among the tables and shelves without getting up. These were far more refined. I slid one of the chairs aside, and it soundlessly glides across the hut, striking the waist-level counter, a table really. It knocked over something in the dark, which clattered on the floor.

I looked about, seeking something to eat. Mysteries were fine, and wondrous lights were fine, and wheeled chairs were fine, but without food I would soon be well beyond caring about any of that.

As hungry as I was, I did not want to offend whatever mage built this small glowing place, nor the girl-spirit which spoke to me. I knelt down, and looked for the item. My entire body groaned at the effort, but I managed to get down low enough to look under the table. Beneath the smooth, lit surfaces above, this part of the hut was a tangle of ropes of many colors. They ran back and forth below the tabletop, and all eventually disappeared into the walls. I touched one of the ropes, and pulled, hoping that perhaps they would summon someone, like the bells in the palace. Instead, the rope came out of the wall. Small metal prongs, five of them, extended from the end of the rope. They were warm.

The rope, now pulled from the wall, left five holes where the rope's prongs had been. I reached in to touch one of the holes, and immediately regretted it. I recalled once touching a small orb used by the mages of the king's court. I had received a shock, as when you come in from a storm and your hair is standing on end. You touch your sword hilt, and a spark ignites. This was much worse. The feeling flowed through my finger and up may arm. I felt it pass through my shoulder, down through my chest, and all the way down to my legs.

It burned, but oddly it was not so much pain as shock. I felt odd, and the world seemed to blur. I leaned back as everything around me seemed to lose focus. As soon as my finger left the hole, the feeling stopped. Still, I sat on the floor for a minute or two, stunned. The top of my finger was red, but not burned. Still, it hurt a fair bit, as did the soles of my feet, though I was unsure why.

After a moment, taken to collect myself and ensure that I was indeed still alive, I hauled myself to my feet. I would certainly not be touching anything else here. Still, I needed food. I looked for some sign of food, but there was none. Several lockers, not all that different from the casements found in any armory or apothecary, were mounted on the wall in certain places. Others were overhead. I touched none of them, for fear of being hurt. This place was far beyond my reckoning, and I had no wish to die by touching something not meant to be touched.

Just as I was about to ask for food once more, a dull roar emerged from the distance. It quickly grew louder, and even in the hut, where the hissing dulled outside sounds, I could tell it was overhead. I hurried to the door, the blinding light of the sun obscuring my vision. I shielded my eyes, and watched as some fierce creature, like the dragons that adorned the books of children, swooped in overhead. Heated air belched from its wings, oddly shaped things with massive bulges in the center. The air blasted me, and I stepped back into the hut for protection.

The creature hovered about, turning as a whole, this way and that. The rumble of the bulges, pumping out that hot air, seemed to fill my ears. The skin of the beast was almost like a suit of armor, with the same blackness as some of the Kronan armor; dull, as if it absorbed the light. The neck was stocky, and the head had two eyes which seemed to reflect the light. After a moment, I was shocked to see something from behind the eye, the silhouette of a man! It was not an eye, but a window. I gasped.

This was no dragon, no creature of the air at all. It was some manner of ship, like the great siege machines which protected soldiers as they approached an enemy wall. The belching hot air seemed to keep it aloft, and as the bulges in the wings turned, the ship moved about. Then, like the feet of a bird, great metal legs reached out from its underbelly, and slowly, smoothly, it set itself down in the sand. I stepped further in to the hut, my heart pounding in my chest.

What was all of this magic?

Just before the ship touched down upon the sandy beach, the sand began to blow in all directions, creating a small sand storm which blocked the creature from view. After a moment I heard the rumbling stop, and the sand storm died down. The dragon ship stood silently, but not for long. Out of its back, what I took as the beast's, no, the ship's tail, a panel opened up. It lowered itself to the sand, and out of the back, figures in bizarre armor poured. Siege machine, indeed!

There were two of them, with helms the color of tanned leather, and coverings over their entire faces, eyes and all. Their armor was odd, patchwork, not at all the smooth works of art I was used to seeing, both terrible and bland. Their boots were obviously cloth of some sort, with the same tanned color as everything else. Their pants were made of some loose material, baggy and fully of pockets. From their belt hung satchels of various sizes. Above the belt, that odd armor bulked out the figures' forms. I could not see where it fastened together, though a metal strip ran up the middle from belly to neck. Their shoulders were bulky, giving them a fierce, powerful look.

They carried with them long, black sticks. No, not sticks. Odd things, with handles obviously fashioned for grips. The pointed them to their fore, each figure pointing their tool away from the dragon-ship, as if they were weapons. I had seen archers move thus, when patrolling ahead of a column of troops. The objects were likely weapons, though I could not discern what sort.

The figures knelt in the sand, beside the dragon-ship's ramp. They looked about the area, their baring obviously soldierly. I could sense it in their movements. They were watching the area, securing it. After a few moments, a third figure emerged from the rear of the beast-vessel. This was a man, dressed much the same as the two others, the two soldiers, except that he had no armor, nor a mask. In the blinding sun, I could not make out his features, though he walked as though he were somewhat older. This one was not a soldier.

This third man looked toward the hut, toward me, and nodded. Both soldiers stood, and began to make their way across the beach to me. They moved methodically, each step carefully chosen, heads turning in all directions. They moved as a pair, staggered, fully aware of the other. It was a trained movement, and the sand did not kick up at all at their passing. Their path to me was not straight, as though they expected an ambush. Through their entire slow assault on the hut, for an aggressive move it was, despite its careful, slow pace, they never once pointed their weapons in my direction.

Surely they could see me now, as the great dragon ship grew silent and stopped blowing sand in the air. I was silhouetted by the fireflies and lit squares of the hut. Or perhaps they could not. They wore something over their eyes, darkened glass, it seemed. Even the older, third man, wore the sorts of eye protectors mages used, though these lenses were also darkened. Perhaps these men, if they truly were men at all, could not see in the bright light. That would certainly explain the darkness of the hut, and how the fireflies and lit squares glowed, yet did not seem to glare the way a flame would.

I considered what to do. The soldiers were too close for me to flee, and there was nowhere to hide in the hut. I felt the moments tick away, each heartbeat an eternity in which the soldiers in their bizarre tan-colored armor slowly approached, followed by the older, third man. Each moment brought me closer to a panic, as the countless unknowns of the situation combined with the exhaustion of my body's state.

I felt my body begin to shake. My hands were first, and then my knees. I broke into a cold sweat, as though every drop of water taken from the white vat outside was forcing its way through my pours. I took hold of a chair for support, but it rolled out from under me, and I felt myself fall to my right. I caught myself on the ledge of the table, but it was not enough. I sat down hard, my rear striking the metal floor. I grunted in slight pain, though I was so swollen and parched, it was more from the knowledge of having fallen, than from real pain.

As soon as I fell, the soldiers hurried their pace. One stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up into the hut. The weapon in his hands turned to me. I looked down the length of it, into the dark nothingness of those eye coverings. The other took his weapon and pressed it against his chest armor. Without a strap to hold it, or clasps to grasp it, the weapon seemed to hold to the chest of its own accord, crossing the soldier's chest from right shoulder to left hip. That soldier reached out to me with open, gloved hands.

I withdrew slightly, the facelessness of the soldier making me wary. The soldier did not advance further, instead holding his hands outward, palms up. The third man came up the steps, but did not cross in front of that first soldier, weapon still ready.

The older man removed his eye protectors. His eyes were a striking green, wrinkled and kindly. He smiled, though his expression was mostly surprise. His hair was a darker brown, almost black, with gray scattered about his head. He was taller than me, perhaps by half a head, and clean shaven. His smile was perfect and white, something rarely seem outside the royal court. Soldiers often had such good teeth, but only because we were taught to keep healthy. Far too many peasants were not so well educated or clean, and their health suffered.

"Oya?" he said carefully, his voice deep and calm. "Oya Eissa?"

I shook my head. He grimaced, obviously disappointed that I could not understand him. He looked at me, right into my eyes. I could see him thinking. After a moment, he nodded.

"Eerta?" he asked.

Again, I shook my head.

"Hmm," he muttered. That, at least, I understood!

I echoed his perplexed grumbling, nodding my agreement. The man smiled and returned the nod.

A wave of nausea swept over me, and the desperate need for food came back to the forefront. I raised my hand to my mouth, and the soldier on the steps moved his weapon aggressively.

"Anral!" the soldier screamed from behind his mask. The voice, male, was deep and snarling, with a slight echoing quality to it. "Anral, egoe!"

I froze, but the older man held out his hand to steady the solider. He shook his head at him. He mouthed words to the solider, and in a moment, the echo-voiced warrior lowered his weapon and stepped back, rising to a less aggressive posture. The old man turned back to me. He mimicked my aborted movement.

I repeated it, making the motions of putting food in my mouth.

"Food," I said. "Please, I need food. I am very sick. I need help." It was a plea, but they did not understand me. Where was that little girl, who seemed to know the words?

As if to answer my inner-prayer, the girl's voice announced itself. Again, I could not see the girl. Was she hiding from me? Was I that fearful to the eyes, in my current state?

"Food," the girl spoke from thin air. "Grama."

"Grama?" the old man repeated, looking into the air, as if addressing some god. "Food?"

There was an odd chirp from somewhere in the hut. Then, another word from the formless girl echoed in the air. "Help. Srelik."

The old man nodded, and turned back to me. "Food?" he said, repeating my hand motion.

I nodded. He smiled, and nodded enthusiastically. Obviously, he was trying to help. The second soldier, the one who had set aside his weapon and approached first, reached into a pouch sewn into his armor. He took out some small thing, wrapped in what seemed like, oddly enough, shiny metal cloth. He tore it. It was a wrapper, and inside, though looking more like a small brick about the length of two fingers, and about as thick as one, was food. I could smell it. It had a fruity scent to it. My eyes focused on it as though it were the greatest treasure on all of Theris.

The soldier handed it to me. I took it with a nodded thank you, and shedding its metal-cloth wrapping, which was smooth and light, I bit into it. It had an odd texture, and was slightly sticky. It had oats of some sort, and what seemed like berries. I worked away at it. It was tough to chew, but that was mostly my exhaustion. I sighed in relief, and slowly ate the entire morsel. As I ate, the soldiers watched silently. The old man smiled.

When I was finished I handed back the metal-cloth to the solider. He set it aside carelessly, as though it were of no value. He nodded to me curtly. I needed more, and pointing to his pouch, gestured for more. Certainly, I could think of better behavior for a guest in this bizarre place, but I needed food. At the old man's agreement, I was given another morsel of food. It disappeared down my throat quicker than the first.

After a moment, the old man looked to the soldier, and gestured to a chair. He pointed to it, and I nodded. With their help, both of them, each one with a hand under an arm, I was lifted from the floor and set into a wheeled chair. The old man reached down to the base of the chair, where the wheels were, and moved a lever. The wheels no longer turned, and I was able to hold still.

The old man stepped past me, moving deeper into the hut. I was too tired to turn to follow his movements. Perhaps I should have. As I accepted a canteen from the soldier's belt, the old man shuffled about behind me. I could hear him open something, one of the cabinets perhaps, and then close it. I was too busy enjoying the water to bother looking behind me.

I saw it in the reflection from the soldier's eye covers. The old man had something in his hand, like a round dagger's handle, but no blade. In a swift motion I had not expected from an older man, he took hold of my shoulder, and jabbed me in the neck with his tool. I felt something drive into my neck.

The entire world burst into pain and flame. I could not even scream.