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slowly flowing clear blue water, there was a belt of tumbling, foaming brown.
Then nothing nothing except a solid wall of mist and spray as the river
plunged out of sight.
On the bank above where the canoes had grounded was another temple mound, only
a quarter the size of the one by the lake. But the warriors who lifted Blade
out of the canoe did not turn up the path toward the temple mound. Instead
they turned toward the west, and settled down to a steady loping pace. For
several hours they jogged briskly along the edge of the cliff. Blade had
occasional glimpses out into space, down toward a misty greenness that seemed
very far below indeed.
Toward evening they reached a cluster of white-painted wooden buildings
perched between the edge of the trees and the edge of the cliff. At the very
edge stood an enormous windlass, more than twenty feet long and six or more
feet in diameter. Wound around its drum was an equally enormous mass of heavy
yellow-orange rope. Beside it stood something that looked like two large
wicker baskets set at opposite ends of a light wooden framework.
Blade's mouth opened to ask a question. Then it stayed open as the answer hit
him. They were going to lower him down the face of the cliff? In those
baskets?
Yes. They lifted him from the litter and lowered him into one of the baskets.
The chief priest climbed into the other. One of the Holy Warriors looked at
the chief priest and said, "Is it safe, this late in the day?"
"The oranki have never come forth in this much light, as you should well know.
Sakula will be displeased if he " jerking a thumb at Blade " is not present
for the High Sacrifice in Tzakalan. He would not be happy at having to make do
with any lesser spirit."
"Will a day more or less make any difference, Pterin?"
"To Sakula it will. You should know that. Ayocan will also be displeased at
such evidence of sloth in his servants. And Ayocan shall not be displeased."
That phrase silenced the warrior. He shrugged and turned away, to start
shouting orders.
As priests and Holy Warriors ran to take positions on the handles of the
windlass, Blade ventured a question. "Oh, warrior, what are oranki?"
The warrior turned back to him and raised an eyebrow. "You are indeed from a
far land, that you have never heard of oranki. They are " a glare from the
chief priest Pterin made him hesitate. "Let me say if you ever see one you
will not live long enough to have to worry about what they are." Then he bent
over, and with the dagger from his belt cut the bindings on Blade's hands and
feet.
Blade stared at him. So did Pterin. "A strong spirit he is, Pterin. I respect
strong spirits, as does
Ayocan whom I serve."
"You blaspheme, comparing yourself to Ayocan!" Pterin's voice was shrill.
"Perhaps. But what will happen if you are wrong about the oranki, and they
take this strong spirit on his way down to theLowerRiver ? Ayocan shall not be
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displeased." From the expression on his face, Pterin did not at all like
having the ritual phrase of the cult used against him. But he kept silent as
the Holy
Warrior turned hard about and shouted to the men at the windlass:
"Ready to lower away."
Several of the warriors ran forward, picked up the frame with the two baskets,
and carried it to the edge of the cliff. Blade managed for the moment to avoid
looking down. Then they took the double ends of the main rope and securely
tied them to large hooks on the frame. They lowered the main rope into a
padded trough. Then, even more carefully, they picked up the basket frame and
lowered it over the edge of the cliff. The frame creaked and swung sickeningly
for a moment, the rope creaked and tightened. Still
Blake managed to avoid looking down.
Then Pterin nodded. And the warrior turned back to the windlass crew and
shouted.
"Lower away!"
Chapter 6
«^»
Again the basket frame swung sickeningly as the windlass crew began paying out
the rope. Down the side of the cliff it went, down through the damp air. The
seamed and scarred blue-gray stone of the cliff face flowed upward past
Blade's eyes. Gradually he got used to the swaying, and looked over and down.
He almost wished he hadn't. Blade was no more afraid of heights than he was of
anything else. And he had done an impressive amount of mountain climbing, both
on missions and for his own amusement.
But then he had always been holding on to the solid mountain, using his
equipment and his skills against it.
He had not been swaying in a basket in the middle of space, held up only by a
rope that might break, payed out by men who might not keep their mind on their
job. No, he didn't need to worry about lapses on the part of the crew of the
windlass. He and Pterin together made too valuable a package for the men on
the windlass to become careless. All he had to do was sit tight and wait and
perhaps worry about the oranki, whatever they were.
There was a good mile of empty air between the top of the cliff and the trees
below. At the bottom the forest stretched away until it was lost in the fading
light, endless miles of green broken only by the faraway glimmer of the river.
Lights by the river shone a familiar yellow-orange, and smoke rose from the
trees near those lights. Blade narrowed his eyes, trying to make out details.
As he did so, a shrill whistling sounded from below, and he heard Pterin gasp
and curse under his breath. Blade looked down.
Rising up out of the shadows on broad black wings was something vast and
hideous. It looked like nothing Blade had ever seen in nightmares, and in fact
for a moment he could not even get a clear image of it. But then it swept up
past the baskets, to swing outward in a great circle, wings stiff, gliding as
it stared at its prey.
From wingtip to wingtip it spanned twenty feet, from beak to tail at least [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]