Chapter 5: 5

Barrin dipped his hands into the shallow bowl of stone into which the water dripped and brought it up to his face, smoothing down his skin and sloughing away the accumulated sweat. He had not caused any more pain to the guard, he had no need to. Instead, he had simply remained silent, ensuring the remaining good eye of the guard saw him the entire time. Soon, the guard would talk, whether he wished to or not.

The woman came to his side and crouched, her hand falling to the crack where the excess waters trickled down into the unknown spaces beneath the structure. Her hand wavered above the crack before she rubbed the tips together. She did not drink, nor did she wash. She had come to him for something else. Yet she kept her tongue, as though offering her words would cause him to unleash the fury he held within upon her.

“I fail to see the point of your actions with him. You say you wish to glean information from him, yet you say nothing. You cause him great pain and then stop.” She rubbed her hands together, as though shaking away dirt from her palms. “And I believe your reticence to follow through with the torture has emboldened him. I believe ...”

“He intends escaping? Yes. He does.” Barrin lowered his voice. “He will run that way, deeper into the structure, but he will find no escape there. No sanctuary. I will follow. I will stalk him and his growing desperation will reveal all I need to know.”

He frowned. Only Kahri could get him to talk so much, and his lover had learned to tease every word from him. This woman did nothing like that. She spoke and he answered. That both concerned and fascinated him. In truth, sometimes he did wish to talk, but father had always maintained that keeping one’s counsel, at all times, lessened the opportunities for betrayal. He did not know this woman. Should he speak too much, any betrayal would come through his own rash words.

“It is admirable, really.” She glanced over her shoulder. “After what you have done, how easily you bested him and his men, you would think he would forego any further pain. I would. But, then, I have never enjoyed pain as some do.”

Why she looked at him, Barrin didn’t know. Her eyes lingered upon him in the half-light, trailing across his thick arms and barrel of a chest, where the story of his life writ large on the scars and tears upon his skin. He never hid those scars. Many people would have died after suffering the great majority of those scars, but Barrin defied death, as he always had. Death had no hold upon him. Oh, one day. That end of days would come and he would face that final battle, but he would never succumb to death for the sake of a little blood and flesh. Never.

“Who are you?” He waved a finger toward the black decorations she had placed upon her skin. “A priestess of Aa. But what does that mean? Do you practice magic? Does your god speak to you? What do you seek of me?”

“I am Maeal. No, I know no magic and, no, the Lord does not speak to anyone. Does any god speak to mortals?” She cupped a tiny hand into the water, lifting it to her mouth and sipping before allowing the remains to drip down into the crack. “As a priestess, my task is only to pray. He has never answered prayers, but we remain in hope.”

“Barrin.” He tapped a thumb against his chest. “My god does not speak to me and never will. He cares nothing for me or anyone.”

“Then how do either of us know that our gods exist at all?” She laughed as his brow furrowed in thought. An incongruous sound in the confines of the wreck of a building. A light laugh. One without concerns or worries. “Because we know, of course. How can they not exist? Though I am unsure of yours.”

That sounded like a humorous touch, but Barrin had little understanding of humour. Father had never joked, about anything, and until Barrin met Kahri, he had never spent much time around others to come to understand humour. Kahri laughed all the time. A deep, booming laugh that shook his entire body and lit up in his eyes. Barrin had learned to appreciate that laugh, if not the humour.

He had never considered that Shtuur did not exist. His father had introduced Shtuur to Barrin as a child and, whenever asked, had always stated that Shtuur had no need to justify himself. Shtuur was Shtuur. Either you believed he existed, or did not. Shtuur cared nothing either way. The god had no need for worship, or rituals, or sacrifice. War was his ritual, death in battle his sacrifice. Nothing else mattered.

Barrin believed. He had no reason not to. The woman, Maeal, could doubt the existence of Shtuur, or even her own god, but Barrin knew. He had seen enough war and death to know that someone, some being, had a hand in it. No sane person would fight a war after living through one. Believing in Shtuur, then, defined Barrin’s insanity, for he loved war almost as much as his god, and he brought the sacrament of the deaths of others to his god in great frequency. In that way, Barrin could think himself a priest of Shtuur, he supposed.

“It is time.” He rose to his feet, looming over the tiny woman. “Be ready, for I cannot say he will not try to kill either of us before he runs and I will not protect you.”

Returning to the fire, adding several thin, dust-dry sticks to the wavering flames, Barrin moved close to the entrance. He slumped against the wall and slid down before crossing his massive arms about his chest and dipping his chin. Maeal sat at the other side, leaving only the merest gap between them. The guard could attempt to pass between them, but Barrin doubted the man foolish enough for that.

Maeal had said she found it admirable that the man had found it within himself to escape, but Barrin held no such admiration. The man had fallen to his better, Barrin could never admire that. That he now gathered up enough courage to escape meant little. He had failed. Lost. Any other man would feel pity for the guard, but not Barrin. With one last look at the guard, laid moaning on his side, then to Maeal, he closed his eyes.

He slept. Father had taught him the true purpose of sleep long ago. Without sleep, a man became careless, reckless. More warriors had died because they could not perform at their best through lack of sleep than Father could even relate. Sleeping, however, did not mean unaware. Father also taught Barrin that. The ability to sleep as soundly as a babe, yet awaken at the slightest change in the breeze. The falling of a leaf. The heavy steps of a spider. Barrin could awaken from the deepest sleep in an instant.

Some time passed. Whether the guard chose to wait for what he thought the right time, or through fear-filled hesitation remained unclear. He moved not a single muscle for what seemed like an age, until, close to morning, Barrin caught the sound of chain links becoming muffled in the guard’s clothing. A shift of weight. The tiniest scrape against the dust and sand covered floor. The guard had chosen his moment.

Barrin had left the sword out of reach, deliberately. If the man had addled wits, he would try to use it on Barrin. If he wasn’t a fool, he would take it and run. If the man had any cleverness, he would leave the sword where it sat. All options that would tell Barrin more about the man than the man could possibly know. Another scrape. This time from the sword, but it did not cut the air to try to take Barrin’s life. Not yet. Not wit-addled, then.

He thought himself swift and silent, but Barrin had heard everything, awakening yet keeping his eyes closed. As he heard the man take a few, short steps toward the inner recesses of the building, where rooms and corridors stretched further than any could suspect, he paused at the natural water bowl. With a snort, Barrin shifted against the wall, still appearing asleep, and discouraged the guard. He could hope to find water further into the ruin, but hope soon became dust in such places.

Upon hearing the guard head on, into the structure, Barrin moved. Head cocked to the side, he continued to listen, eyes still closed. Once satisfied, he shovelled sand atop the fire, darkening and smothering it before opening his eyes. He found his food and water, slipping the straps over his head. He slid back across to Maeal and pressed a hand against her mouth, anticipating startled words. She did not startle. Instead, her eyes whipped open, awake and fully aware. She stared at him until he pressed a finger to his lips. They had to move before Barrin lost the guard in the labyrinthine passages beyond. Without looking, he found her rations and pushed them into her hands.

Guided by the merest of noises, Barrin followed the path of the escaping guard. More than once, Barrin pressed Maeal and himself back against a wall as the guard found himself stopped. By a dead-end, or a collapsed roof. The longer he took trying to extricate himself from this maze, the more he would despair. The more panic would take hold. Barrin had not panicked when he found himself lost here, but this man was not Barrin.

Then Barrin realised his mistake. He smelled the air before he felt the tickle of the breeze and cursed himself for not taking the time to survey the structure. He had assumed and Father would have beaten that assumption out of him without mercy. He had thought this place untouchable, unchanging, but the years, decades, centuries even, had not shown mercy to the structure that even now continued to age and crumble to dust.

He found the hole soon after the guard had passed through, sensing the shift in the air. A rockfall. A broken wall. Long, long years of erosion had revealed another part of the building. A secret part. A path circled away, sloping downward, and now Barrin decided he could not waste any more time. He had to stop the guard before he somehow found escape, or, at the very least, a hiding place and water. Should he find that, Barrin may never find him. With the woman keeping close, Barrin began to make greater haste, until he heard the yell and the tumble, and the sound of manacles and chains rattling as the guard fell some distance.

Reaching the edge, Barrin looked down but saw nothing but a steep, sandy slope that disappeared into even deeper darkness. Far below, he heard the moans of a man in pain. Different from the moans Barrin had brought forth from the man. And he did not move. The chains continued to rattle in the dark, dull echoes reaching up to Barrin, but they did not diminish in volume.

Barrin did his best to gauge the edge of the broken pathway, running fingers along the rough line that separated the floor he stood upon and the empty space beyond. He couldn’t begin to imagine what lay below, whether he could find a way out. The air didn’t not smell fresh, but nor did it smell mouldy, stagnant and stale. It had a freshness to it, but as though it had had to travel far to reach their lungs. And it came from below.

“I have not known you for long, but I get the feeling you intend following him down there.” Careful not to step too far forward, Maeal leaned over. It was too dark to see her expression. “How important is this information you seek?”

“More important than anything.” Barrin paused before reaching out, finding her arm and touching it. “Take the food and water and go. Travel directly North and you will reach Mar-Es Khaddin. There you should easy find passage back to your home. I must follow him.”

“Then I shall follow you.” She sounded neither determined or fearful.

Maeal wasn’t his concern. She could follow or not. Down there, far below, lay the only one who could lead Barrin to the next task. Each individual task bringing him closer to finding Kahri or, should Barrin find out the worst, to the one that had torn them apart. Either Barrin would find his love, or he would raze this entire nation in vengeance if they did not give up the one responsible. Without taking even a thought or a breath, Barrin dropped and began to slide, at speed, down the sand slope, uncertain what awaited him below.