Traveller's Refuge (9 page)

When the vibrations from the explosives detonating rippled away, he saw Traveller stretched out in the dirt across the cave from him. Incredibly, the fire still burned, though it looked as though the tidy little pile of wood was somewhat scattered. In the distance, he could hear a low rumbling and somewhere, deep inside, he knew that they were trapped. Lucky shot. Or unlucky shot, if you were the fella that was going to answer to his father. Actually, he hoped it was that son of a bitch, DeMarko. Shaking his head, he shuffled over to Trav’s body, praying that he wasn’t dead yet. He didn’t particularly want to be shut up in a cave with a body—even Trav’s— for company.

“Trav?” He could see Trav’s chest moving, so that meant he was still breathing. “Trav! Wake up!”

“Why?” Trav’s voice was a faint thread.

“Because I would like to be untied now. That was the deal. The canyon goes down, I get to be untied,” Bish reminded him reasonably, while trying to stave off the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He didn’t do well in small places. Especially small dark places.

“I seem to recall that the deal was based on
me
blowing the stuff, not some idiot with a rifle for a brain.” He sighed. “I’ve always said that they let any fool jackass carry a gun. Too bad, they don’t know what to do with them. Well, don’t stand there. Get over here and dig my knife out of my pocket.”

Bish studied him thoughtfully. Trav wasn’t moving and that was a very bad sign. “How badly are you injured?”

“Well, I think that pretty well everything that can break is broken,” Trav replied too calmly. “I seem to be breathing, so I’m not sure about my neck or spinal cord…and I seem to be feeling plenty of pain, so I suppose that’s a good sign—if I was within a reasonable distance to a hospital. Even my hair hurts.”

“Want me to cut it off?” Bish offered helpfully, squatting down next to him. “Which pocket is the knife in?”

“The right one. And if you cut my hair, there won’t be a place on earth I won’t find you.”

Moving like a lame duck, Bish carefully turned around with his back to Trav. “You’re going to have to tell me when I get in the general vicinity. I don’t want to touch you any more than I have to until these manacles are off.”

“That’s handsome of you after all of this,” Trav observed.

“Well, you’re right about Dance. Dad should have let him go.” He moved down a couple of inches. “How far now?”

“Back toward my head, just about an inch.” Trav was in so much pain, his vision was blurring. He felt Bish catch the edge of his pocket and then when he slid his fingers inside, Trav passed out.

“Trav?” When no response was forthcoming, Bish decided that the faint might be for the best. Fishing out the knife, he worked it open and sliced through the plastic ties. When Bish finally had them off, he found a couple of nicks but overall, he was satisfied that he hadn’t sliced a finger off. Traveller kept his knives sharp. A couple of slices later, his ankles were free and he stood up. He located Trav’s flashlight and wormed his way up the passage to the canyon far enough to confirm that they were definitely trapped. With a deep sigh, he twisted around and returned to the cave.

Suppressing the panic attack with a strength he had never suspected he had, he prowled around, checking through Trav’s piles of junk, happy to locate a blanket and a spare sleeping bag. He found the water bottles and gulped down another long drink. After he built the fire up, he checked Trav’s pulse and found it surprisingly strong. Methodically, starting at the top, he checked for breaks, bleeding and internal injuries. After a quick inventory check, Bishop decided that there wasn’t much he could do for him, except slide him into his sleeping bag, while he was still unconscious. There were no breaks with obviously displaced bones and without Trav’s input, he wasn’t going to mess with him. If they
did
get out of their predicament somehow, he didn’t want Trav paralyzed because of something he did. He rummaged through the boxes and junk piled against the back wall, looking for something he could use for a backboard, finally settling for a large box, which he had to empty.

He was quite pleased to find some high-energy food bars and a bag of apples. These he set aside, while he continued to dump things on the floor. Near the bottom, he found a pair of nylon pull-on jogging shorts and a ratty t-shirt from some long-forgotten rock concert and that made his day complete. He stood up, slipped them on and felt much better at once. Whatever the religious folks might say, he didn’t want to meet his maker in the altogether.

When he had the box empty, he broke it down, flattened and folded until he felt he had a manageable size to work with. He duct-taped every seam and fold first, then proceeded to wrap the entire piece in duct tape for extra strength. When that was finished, he set it aside and had an energy bar and cup of water. Then he looked for something he could use to brace Trav’s neck. After a while, he found a towel, so he set that with his backboard.

It occurred to him that they should be feeling the effects of air deprivation. That they weren’t might mean that there was an air current somewhere and he considered searching for it. Possibly, it could lead to a way out of the cave.

“Been busy?” Trav’s slurred words shook him out of his reverie.

“Very. Glad to see you’re back.” Bishop brought him a cup of water and a spoon. He carefully spooned small sips into Trav’s mouth. “How’s it going?”

“I’m not a very happy camper right now,” Trav admitted. “I’ve decided that I’m going to track down the happy hunter and beat the crap out of him, just as soon as I can.”

Bish smiled in spite of himself. “Sounds like a plan to me. Is anything hurting so bad it stands out?”

“No. There’s just one big ocean of pain. Bigger than the Pacific and Atlantic together.” Trav looked up at the ceiling while he panted lightly, pushing away the crashing waves of pain. “Bish, check the ceiling. That piece looks like it’s loose.”

Bishop found a flashlight and checked over the entire ceiling. He found two spots that didn’t look very good. “Well, I’ve got bad new and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Oh, I think I’ll settle for the bad news.”

“We’ve got two spots that don’t look so hot. If I drag you to the very back, we should be safe if it comes down.”

“Okay, what’s the bad news?”

“If the ceiling comes down, we’ll have about a six-by-six space back there. We’re not going to discuss the air situation.”

“Cozy. I told you we were going to be real good friends.” Trav smiled grimly. “Good thing you found those clothes, or we might have gotten to be better friends than we wanted, huh?”

“That’s a scary thought.” Bishop retrieved his backboard, sleeping bag, towel and duct tape. “Listen, before this ceiling does come down, I want to get you settled.” He explained what he thought he could do and Trav agreed, though as he pointed out, there wasn’t much he could do about it if he
didn
’
t
agree. “Once I have you taped into this contraption, I’m going to move you back there in that corner.”

“Okay. Better move the water and food back there too. And Dancer’s violin and guitar,” he insisted stubbornly.

“All right, all right. I’ll find his violin and guitar, though why in the world you want them, I wouldn’t know. For damned sure,
you
can’t play them.” Bish went to locate them and carry them to the back wall. When he had everything settled he came back to Traveller. “Okay, everything’s set. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I will ever be,” Trav mumbled. “Bish, if I flake out, or drop dead, don’t worry. You did your best, you know?”

“You will not die. I refuse to let you, because then Dancer would hunt me down and one of you is enough to deal with,” Bishop declared.

It was not anything that Bish ever wanted to do again but eventually, he had Trav arranged on the backboard, with the neck brace, in the sleeping bag. The last job was dragging him to the back of the cave. After taking a short break, it occurred to him that it would be a good notion to pile everything else in a barricade across their space. If the cave roof came down, perhaps the barricade would hold the rock up enough that they would have a breathing space. He was determined that he was going to give them every chance for a successful rescue.

When he had his barricade constructed, he wrapped himself in the blanket and lay down next to Trav. He planned to stay awake but it had been a busy day, what with abductions and explosions and soon he was fast asleep.

Bish wasn’t certain of what woke him but abruptly, he was wide awake. He saw that Trav’s eyes were open. “What is it?”

“I don’t know but something’s not right. I woke up a couple of minutes ago and I’ve been lying here, trying to figure out what’s bothering me.” His eyes flickered around their space. He sniffed carefully. “I smell roses.”

“Roses? In December?”

“And the air is warmer back here. I can feel a drift of warm air on my face. See if you can locate the source.”

Bishop unwrapped his blanket and found the flashlight. “If there’s a way out, we can get you some help,” he began.

“Bish. I’m not worried about getting out of here. If Dance is gone, there isn’t much left for me.” He sighed quietly. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into it. I think I went a little crazy for a while. Take the violin and guitar in case Dancer shows up, okay?”

His friend frowned down at him. “Tell you what. The instruments only go if you go. So if you want Dancer to have them, you better give them to him yourself. Now I’m going to find our phantom roses.”

It took him thirty minutes to locate the opening. It was such a clever optical illusion, that eventually he only found it by running his hands along the wall. He investigated the first twenty feet and returned. “We can get out this way, Trav. It will be tight in some places but I can drag you behind me.” Faint rumbles near the front of the cave, finalized their decision for them. Bish had found twisted hanks of rope in one of the boxes. He quickly laced and knotted together the things they were taking with them so that he could drag them behind him. Then inch by inch, he wormed through the passage. It was time-consuming, exhausting work. Move a little. Drag Trav. Drag the stuff. Move forward a little more. Repeat. By his reckoning, a little over two hours later, they reached the other end.

With a sigh of relief, he pulled the last of the things into the new cavern. After a careful reconnoiter, he was satisfied that they were safe for the night. No animals to be evicted. No human inhabitants. He found a fairly level space and dragged Trav there. Trav had long since fainted, so after checking his pulse, Bishop allowed him to sleep. He piled the rest of their belongings around them, rolled up in his blanket and stretched out next to Trav to sleep.

Chapter Seven

The faint rumble of thunder woke Wrenna late in the night. She wriggled around in the bed, trying in vain to find that elusive comfortable position and finally got up and padded over to the window. It wasn’t raining in Lost Market but far off on the other side of the river and training fields, she could see the flickers of lightning. A muffled whimper at the bedroom door drew her attention away from the window. Cocking her head to one side, she listened intently.

Wrenna
,
come now
!

The mental voice—a strange, unfamiliar one—startled Wrenna.
Who is this
? she demanded in bafflement.

Harmony
!
Dinti
!

Wrenna rushed over to the door and flung it open. An enormous pale gold long-haired creature sat on its haunches in the hallway, waving its feathery tail in agitation. Mama had once commented that the
dintis
resembled salukis, a breed of out-valley dog, except that their hair was much longer. Harmony’s presence puzzled Wrenna as
dintis
rarely spoke to humans and then only to the human they selected to bond with. “Why are you here?”

You are my human
,
Wrenna
.
We will talk of that later
.
Now you must come with me
.
Your mate is in the valley and he is hurt
. Harmony’s firm explanation left no room for protest.
I have already informed Dai of his injuries
.

Hurrying back to her bed, Wrenna slipped off her sleeping shift and put on a dark green
meerlim
. She snatched a shawl and low boots from the chest under the window and rejoined Harmony in the hall, unsurprised to find her parents and Llyon and Tyger waiting. “Where is he, Harmony?”

Circle five
. Harmony turned away, loping down the dark hall.
Come
.

“Where are we going, Wrenna?” Papa asked softly.

“Harmony—the
dinti
—says that Traveller is at pledging circle five and he’s hurt.” Abruptly, she realized that her parents shouldn’t even be in Lost Market. “When did you get back from Dai’s Retreat?”

“Late,” Papa replied curtly and impatiently motioned for her to lead the way.

Circle five was the pledging circle and cave that was located down past Silence Brown’s house. Fortunately, that meant that the path leading to the circle was mostly smooth and flat. Mama rarely traveled beyond the village for one simple reason—she was blind. Wrenna didn’t want to think about the reason the path conditions were important because she didn’t want to ask why Mama was accompanying them. Her presence with the little group was so unusual that Wrenna was afraid it meant that Traveller’s condition was far more serious than Harmony had indicated.

Daybreak dawned over the valley as they made their way quietly down the wide path. Near the edge of the village, Mali and Jonas, warrior-healers from the village summoned by Dai, joined them. The small group continued on, each of them wondering what new changes the latest newcomer would bring.

* * * * *

When Bishop woke, a very old, smallish blue man was leaning over Traveller. He had both hands spread out over him and was slowly moving them along Trav’s body as though he could see through the skin with them. The man noticed that he was awake and nodded to him. “Your friend is badly hurt,” he announced. “I’ve called for help to move him.”