Racing the Dark (36 page)

"Of course. How else could we decide who gets the dveri herds and the maize fields and the camps closest to the river? Do your people not war on each other?"

Lana spied a bright blue flower at her feet and knelt to pick it. "Not really," she said, braiding it into her hair. "There hasn't been a major war since the wind spirit broke free. Some of the islands have disputes with the others, but nothing ever gets very violent ... I guess we don't think it's really worth it."

Yechtak looked amazed, but after a moment he nodded. "Yes, of course, your people are Binders. Though it is evil, binding does create ease among humans. It makes them ... dependent on each other. Binders don't like war. For people like us, the true people, there is no ease, no other way besides war."

She thought about what he said the rest of that day, even as they set up camp on a small hill from which she had her first view of the swift-flowing river. Perhaps Yechtak was right-in a land with as few natural resources as this, perhaps war among humans was inevitable. But was it truly impossible for people to cooperate without the looming threat of a millennia-enslaved spirit breaking its bonds and wreaking revenge? Would the world really collapse if they all broke free?

The death sat near her by the fire. In its robes, she saw hundreds of men slaughtering each other for the sake of a field of maize.

A week later, most of it spent walking down-river while avoiding contact with the other wind tribes, they arrived at the entrance to the maze. Yechtak called it something else, a name that was unpronounceable even by the standards of his tongue, but it was quite simply a maze. The way through it had apparently been inscribed on his chest the night of his initiation. Even though it was relatively close to the river, the huge rocky outcropping looked nearly as barren as the place where Yechtak's tribe had been forced to camp. It stretched on for miles, and the peaks surrounding it were so high and jagged that the only way inside was through the tiny passage at its base near the river. Yechtak took the burro's lead and Lana followed behind, making her careful way through the labyrinth of crumbling stone and blocked passages. It was hot, dirty work, punctuated by long pauses in which Yechtak checked the tattoo on his chest before choosing the best path. They had to stop earlier than they usually did, because the high rocks on either side of them cast long shadows that made it impossible to navigate the treacherous footing.

Yechtak said that they didn't have to worry about either dangerous predators or the other wind tribes here, so they set up camp virtually where they stopped walking. The wind began howling after night fell, but the surrounding rocks protected them from the brunt of it. Lana shivered and pulled her blanket closer around her shoulders. The burro snorted and shuffled its feet nervously, looking around as though trying to discover the source of the unearthly moans. Yechtak said something softly in his own language and then began tracing the dark pattern on his chest without actually looking at it.

"How much longer till we reach the ruins?" Lana asked, pitching her voice so she could be heard over the screaming wind.

"Two days, I think," he said. "We have finished the most difficult part." He reached into the fire with a long stick and rolled out one large, soot-covered brown egg. They had been eating hrevech eggs ever since Yechtak found an unattended nest three days before. Even though Yechtak complained loudly about the lack of meat, Lana was secretly grateful for their plain fare. The eggs, in fact, were a surprising treat, because she hadn't expected to like them. Back on her island, they had never eaten anything other than fish eggs, and even after she left, she had only eaten eggs from sparrows and the occasional chicken. Yechtak took the egg, cracked it open against a nearby stone, and gave the larger half to Lana. Even though it had been sitting in the fire for nearly half an hour, the yolk was still a little soupy. She dipped the end of a stale piece of bread inside it and began eating silently, wishing that the wind would sound a little less threatening. Above her she heard the dull clack of falling rocks dislodged by the wind.

She yawned and looked up, surprised to see that Yechtak was staring at her intently.

"What is it?" she asked, tossing the empty half-shell further down the path.

He shook his head. "It is nothing. You should sleep ... tomorrow will as well be hard."

She thought of pressing him-his eyes seemed so distant and troubled-but instead she nodded and lay down a few feet from the fire. She had almost drifted off when Yechtak's quiet voice startled her awake again.

"Do you remember how I told you before ... about our wars?"

"I remember," Lana said, her voice a scratchy whisper.

"I ... did not tell you everything. The wars are not just for life ... for water and maize. They are for manhood. Boys wish to be men, to be brave, so they fight wars. My mother says ... she says they are games. Deadly games. My father died in those games, then my brother. Now I'm all she has left. I am seventeen-most fight before this age, but my mother begged me not to. And I stayed a boy, to be with her. Erlun is wise, he must have known why I stayed in my mother's tent, so he sent me with you, so I can be a man without the games. The Binding is evil and yet ... without war I would still have my father. My brother..."

His voice trailed off into silence. Lana sat frozen, wondering if she should say something, or if she even had the right. She had spent the past few months so wrapped up in desperation and selfpity that she had barely given a thought to all the things she still did have. Unlike Yechtak, she still had both of her parents. In the end, she didn't say anything. Yechtak remained silent, and her own thoughts lulled her back into a dreamless sleep.

Something had fallen on top of her.

She opened her eyes abruptly and bit back a curse of frustration when she realized that she could hardly see anything: it was still dark and the fire had dwindled to a few glowing coals.

The thing on top of her moved and she realized it was Yechtak. His face was close to hers now, and she could feel his heavy, wet breath on her cheek.

"I am sorry," he said softly, incomprehensibly. "But I want ... I mean, I would like very much..." His words were slurred and confused, as though he had just woken.

"Would you kiss me, Iolana?"

Lana tried to hide her shock. "Yechtak, why-"

He closed his mouth over hers. She felt his rough tongue and tasted the sour tang of his saliva. For a moment, she stopped struggling in her shock. Unbidden, an image came to her mind of her mother, back when they were in Okika, with bruises on her arms and face from the men she slept with. She thought of that horrible sailor in the rain who had dislocated her jaw. Was Yechtak no better than those leering, violent men? What was he doing to her?

She freed one of her hands and began pounding on his back, shrieking as well as she could with her mouth covered. She didn't want this ...

Just as suddenly as he had fallen on top of her, he broke off the kiss and backed away. Lana closed her eyes, trying to calm her high-pitched wheezing. Minutes later, unsure of what else to do, she looked back up at him. Tears were running from his wide open eyes and his hands were shaking.

"I did not deserve this," he whispered, touching his tattoo gently. "Erlun trusted me too much. I am not a man, just a boy..."

His sobs echoed off the rocks, filled with such wrenching pain that her heart opened to him despite herself. Tentatively, she reached over and touched his shoulder. He reacted to her gesture violently, taking his head out of his arms and shaking her off as though she had some deadly disease.

"Do not touch me," he said. "You cannot. My ... my love is too strong. I cannot control."

Lana gripped her elbows and looked away, trying to push away her shock and figure out what to do. But before she could decide, a large rock crashed to the ground with a deafening noise a few yards away. The burro brayed frantically and began tugging at its lead rope, which was attached to a nearby rock. With a sudden snap, it broke and the burro took off down the path, in the direction of an even louder rock fall. Lana glanced at Yechtak, but he simply looked stricken. She knew, however, that if that burro escaped with all their supplies, they were both doomed. She scrambled upright and took off after it, holding the blanket over her head to keep the falling pebbles from hitting her face. Behind her, she heard the roar of more falling rocks, but she ignored it. The burro had stopped its frantic run and was cowering in the shelter of an overhanging rock. She walked toward it slowly, amazed by the sudden, dead silence. The wind had abruptly ceased howling and the last of the rocks had fallen. The burro came to her almost gratefully and she stroked its head while she waited for her breathing to steady.

She knew almost before she turned around that she was boxed in. That noise behind her had been too large for anything besides an avalanche. By the light of the first streaks of dawn, Lana saw the huge pile of broken red rocks hazily through the whorls of dislodged dust. Her legs could barely hold her up when she walked closer to it, leading the reluctant burro by the broken rope.

"Yechtak," she called as loudly as she could, "are you all right?"

After Lana had almost convinced herself that he was either dead or lying unconscious, she heard him clear his throat. "I am all right. This is best. We are separated."

"Don't be crazy!" Lana shouted. "I have all the supplies! What are you going to do without water? How can I get to the ruins without you?"

"I have some water with me. I will go another way and meet you there. Your way is simple. Follow the path until you reach a white stone shaped like a bird. There will be a tunnel. Follow the tunnel until you reach the mesa."

She heard his footsteps walking away from her. She stayed for a long time calling his name, but he never responded.

She and the burro could just barely fit in the cave beside the birdshaped stone. The statue was weathered and pockmarked, but the folded wings and open beak were still unmistakable, and she had breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it. She didn't know what she would do if she got lost in this maze. The death seemed to grow more insubstantial as they walked through the crumbling stone passageway, but it still followed her silently. The violent images that she was accustomed to seeing in its robe had vanished as well, making her think that this close to the wind's stronghold, the death must be losing its power. The thought cheered her even as she wondered what awaited her on the other end of the tunnel. Would the wind spirit help her, or had it simply called her here on a cruel whim? The tunnel widened and the path turned into a series of shallow steps that continued for an interminably long time. The tunnel was dark, but the death itself let off a cold glow by which it seemed both she and the burro could see. She lost all sense of time as she trudged up the stairs, her dusty sweat soaking her clothes. She was hardly aware of when they emerged at the top, except that the brighter light made her squint.

"Your protection is almost ended," the death said quietly. "You'll be mine soon."

Lana didn't even bother responding-she was too close to her goal, too close to surrendering herself to yet another spirit to think about the one already dogging her. Even though they had been destroyed five hundred years ago, and ever since subjected to the worst ravages of time and weather, the ruins on the mesa still had more than enough power to enthrall. Gigantic spires of deep red stone climbed to the sky even as their foundations crumbled beneath them. Toward the center of the mesa, what must have once been the main building was now reduced to piles of rubble, though even these were still commanding due to their sheer size. She wondered how anyone could have hauled so much stone to build such a massive structure in this remote wasteland of a place. It must have been very grand a thousand years ago. She, however, could not help but reflect on the irony of the scores of people who must have sweated and toiled to build a structure dedicated to the glory of a failed binding.

Even though there was no discernable breeze on the mesa, her hair fluttered and the burro shuffled nervously. She climbed with it over a few scattered piles of rocks-some of which looked like they might be the smashed remains of statues-and tied what was left of its rope to a post sticking out from a ruined wall. She just hoped that the burro wouldn't bolt, no matter what happened to her. Even if she didn't succeed, Yechtak would still need the supplies to get back home. She looked back over the mesa and saw that its dead center was occupied by a tall circular platform, strangely undamaged given the destruction around it. It seemed like the ideal place to wait for the power she had come to meet.

Trying to ignore the fear that suddenly gripped her innards, she pulled the glass wind jar from her pack and, after a moment's thought, slung the bag over one shoulder. She would regret being without her blanket or water when it grew dark. She gave the burro one last pat on its head and started walking toward the center of the ruins.

"I can't go any farther," the death said when she reached the base of the platform. A ladder of step-sized holes had been bored into the stone at regular intervals. She took her hands from the holes and looked back at the death.

"Then stay," she said. "I'm sure you won't be parted from me for long."

She took a great pleasure in climbing up the rock before it had a chance to respond.

After she clambered over the top, she sat silently for about ten minutes, reveling in the view and the simple pleasure of feeling alone again. Soon, she would be at the mercy of yet another spirit, but for now, her time was her own. Geas were strange, weren't they? They were as much about surrender as control. She hadn't understood that when she was still with Akua, but she did now. Terror and hope, bound in one irresistible package.

Then she picked up the glass jar and pulled out the cork.

The wind that she had called with the spider-crone back in the Kalakoas came roaring over the mesa. For a few heady moments she smelled the rich, damp aroma of loamy earth and air teeming with all kinds of life. What a difference from this arid, nearly barren place. Instead of gradually fading away, the wind picked up even more fervor and intensity, blowing around the platform until it was like a wall on all sides. A large, vaguely human shape, made entirely from frantically pulsing wind and swirling red dust, flew forward until it was a few feet away from her. She was shivering uncontrollably, but she forced herself to stare into its hideously malleable face.