On the Isle of Sound and Wonder (22 page)

“Yes, but not for wine,” complained Truffo, batting at Stephen with his hands as he came closer. “My gullet is dry for water, Stephen, without which we wandering woeful wretches won’t win wars when wars would want winning.”

Karaburan tipped his head to one side at the impressive string of syllables.
They talk so strangely!
he thought, wishing he had someone familiar to discuss it with, but knowing he was quite as alone as ever, even in the company of these men.

“But the tyrant,” protested Karaburan.

Stephen made a sharp gesture with his free hand. “I will hear no talk of him!” he snapped. “It is time to drink, not to commit murder.”

“But you promised.” Karaburan began to grind his teeth. Truffo looked startled at the sound, but Stephen seemed only to be scornful.

“I am your new king, and I will not have you make demands of me, monster.”

“You will do as you swore to do,” snarled Karaburan, drawing himself up to his full height. “If you knew how long I’ve been tormented—”

“And that torment is nearly at its end. So, why don’t you sit down and celebrate like a real man?” Stephen drank from the bottle.

“Don’t talk to it so!” Truffo hissed. “It’s so much bigger than we are!”

“This monster will not harm us, lad,” Stephen went on calmly. “It is a goodly and gentle monster, and will do us no harm. Isn’t that right?” He waggled the bottle at Karaburan, who did not take it, but simply glowered and went back to sit on his patch of earth across the clearing.

Some lords they are,
he thought to himself.
They are not strong or wise, they are not kind, and they certainly do not seem powerful. All they want to do is drink that wine. If they will not kill Dante, I ought to turn them in, and kill him myself while he’s distracted by them.
Karaburan cocked his head to one side.
Now there’s a thought. Yes, I can always give them up . . . and his back will turn as he studies them like specimens, and I will be there, ready . . . ready to twist his neck so sideways it will stop his heart. Finally.

Somewhere in the trees a strange piercing screech went up from a flock of birds, startling the men.

“What was that?” gulped Truffo. He grabbed at Stephen’s sleeve, nearly spilling the wine.

Karaburan gave a little gurgling laugh at how silly they both looked. “It’s only the birds, my lords.”
They fear their own shadows!
“Very large birds with large claws and hooked beaks for tearing fish in half,” he added experimentally.

Truffo looked nervous, but Stephen was unchanged. He took a swallow of wine. “An eagle or a hawk. Such birds of prey we have back home,” he declared unsteadily, but with great conviction.

Oh, I can’t kill them now,
Karaburan thought, entirely amused. “Their wings stretch wider than my own arms,” Karaburan said, standing up to his full height and spreading his arms apart. “And their eyes are like the moon, shining and blind-white.”

“Blind birds? That’s silly. Birds can’t go blind.” Stephen frowned. “How could they fly?”

“They aren’t blind. They see the sounds they make, and hear the smells, and fly on wings like flints.”

Truffo looked horrified. “That doesn’t even sound possible,” he stammered.

“I’ve seen them,” assured Karaburan cheerfully. “It’s true.”

The afternoon was waning on, the daylight becoming warmer in color as the sun traveled farther toward its inevitable sunset. Karaburan tried not to smile too widely at the fear that began to glimmer in both men’s wide eyes.
Fear makes men desperate
, he had heard Dante say once, a long time ago.
Desperate men do almost anything if they think it is their only option.

“Bah, birds. What else?” Stephen wanted to know, lifting his chin a little in defiance. Karaburan shrugged his lopsided shoulders and crouched comfortably again.

“Many things, my lord,” he answered, and glanced around them into the forest for a few moments, listening and watching. Then he turned back to them and lumbered closer. “The most delicate and beautiful insects, but deadly to be bitten by.”

Truffo paled and clung closer to Stephen’s trouser leg like a spooked child. Stephen swayed, trying to keep the bottle aloft. He squinted at Karaburan. “Monster, I do insist you tell us the truth of it,” he said, carefully and slowly. “There is nothing to be gained by frightening us unecessh . . . unnessy . . . unarcsissa . . . without reason.”

Karaburan lowered his head soberly. “Yes, my lord. I promise to tell the truth,” he vowed, amused that his words had held such power over them for a short moment.

“Now speak truth,” Truffo blurted out, “Is there aught on this damnable land that can devour us whole?”

Karaburan shook his head. “No,” he said.

Something moved in the trees, and Karaburan heard a low growl. He turned to look over his shoulder, seeking the source of the noise. There was nothing there. It had certainly sounded like something, but there was nothing there, so it must be nothing.

“What,” Truffo demanded, pushing himself up to his feet awkwardly, “was that?”

Stephen squeezed the bottle of wine tightly. “Monster,” he said cautiously, “what was that noise?”

Karaburan was very still, listening to the leaves rustle in the breeze. He looked at Stephen, his own eyes a little wider. “I don’t know,” he murmured.

“Monster, you promised,” whispered Truffo. “You said! He said there was nothing out there!” Truffo turned his attention to Stephen, scrambling to his feet.

There was another growl, closer this time.

Stephen’s lips worked silently. Truffo trembled like a dry leaf, and Karaburan turned around again in search of the source of the noise.

“Monster,” Stephen said in a tiny voice. “Should we run?”

Karaburan saw the leaves moving, the lower branches of trees and bushes swaying as though forced apart by the body of an animal passing through the greenery. For a moment, he was at a loss. He had only seen the tiger once, and hoped never to see it again. The isle had proven big enough—or at least tricky enough—to keep him from encountering the biggest of the beasts since that day. He wasn’t sure he could best the tiger. He had wrestled with fish and water-dwelling things over the years, had climbed trees and wrangled birds, and chased the littler mammals over the paths and through the forest. But the tiger frightened him.

The growl increased in closeness and pitch, then rose to a series of sharp barks. Karaburan had never heard that sound before, and it frightened him.

“Dogs?” Truffo exclaimed. “Wild dogs?” Other barking voices joined the first, and the sound of running feet approached the edge of their small clearing.

“What is a dog?” asked Karaburan.

The leaves shook and the barking was nearly upon them.

“Run!” bellowed Stephen.

The three of them turned and ran the other direction, into the forest, away from the wine crate, the clearing, and the barking, but the animals followed. Karaburan, more accustomed to the uneven terrain of the island, quickly passed Truffo, and then Stephen, and was now in the lead of their desperate flight. The barking escalated to snarling and howling; the sound of snapping jaws, louder than any beast Karaburan had ever heard, echoed at their heels, even as they ran on.

“What are they?” cried Stephen in terror.

“I don’t know,” yelped Truffo, “I can’t bear to look!”

Karaburan had a thought then, an idea that almost surprised him more than simply the fact that he had an idea in his head at all. He veered to the left and heard the men yelp. “This way!” he cried, and heard them crashing through the trees after him.

Truffo was a relatively good runner, from what Karaburan saw each time he glanced back, but Stephen was crimson-faced and puffing as noisily as any whale breaching the water for air. The dogs snapped their jaws and howled, and Truffo began to sob in between leaps over uneven ground and fallen branches. Stephen was falling behind.

“Take heart,” called Karaburan, “we are nearly there!” There came a yelping, and it sounded as though one of the dogs had tripped, interrupting the momentum of the pack. The dogs snarled at one another, lagging in their speed. The barking and yowling began to fade.

“We’re losing them!” Stephen sounded giddy and short of breath.

Karaburan found what he was looking for and began to slow, pulling tree branches aside with his large hands so they could follow him.

“Hurry,” he urged, revealing the dark alcove of rock.

“Gods bless us, a hiding-hole,” cried Stephen in relief, staggering toward the stony entrance.

Truffo followed, wordless and gasping, and Karaburan heard the last barking cease as he followed them inside the cool, dark cave.

Stephen had fallen to his hands and knees, sucking in air like a drowning man. Truffo was pressed against the wall of the little cave, his body trembling with effort. Karaburan stood with his back to the entrance they’d used, catching his own breath.
They are so fragile,
he marveled.
So foreign to the island, they cannot even survive a short sprint. Lucky we were so close to the caves.

As they stood panting in the cool shadow of the cave, Karaburan felt something in his gut begin to sink. His plan was not the best one he’d ever had. Now they were all three in the caves together. He had hoped to stir them to action and leave them to their murder. He had hoped to stay out of it, and now he was inevitably a part of it.

I hope we find him before he finds us,
Karaburan thought anxiously.
If we surprise him, we may stand a chance.

“What,” gasped Stephen, “was that?” He turned to look up at Karaburan, exhausted.

“I don’t know,” repeated Karaburan apologetically, and made a show of checking the entrance for sign of their pursuers.

“You didn’t tell us about the feral dogs,” whined Truffo. “I want to go home!”

“Any suggestions as to how?” Stephen looked sourly at him.

Truffo pulled a pained, tired face. “You know plain well I haven’t.”

“We’re safe for now,” murmured Karaburan, watching their expressions in the dim light of the cave.

“Do you hear something?” Truffo hissed, and they all held their breath for a moment. From somewhere further down the dark, narrow passageway was a sound like running water, or perhaps a wind chime.

Stephen sniffed. “Do you smell something?” There was a distinct smell like roast chicken, and Karaburan saw their eyes grow wide and hungry.

“I’m so hungry,” Truffo said meekly.

“Let’s have a look, then,” Stephen whispered, and began to move forward.

“Wait, lords!” Karaburan growled. “Be wary—we have found the lair of the tyrant. Perhaps he will be distracted and we can catch him unawares.”

Karaburan saw the doubt flicker over Stephen’s face, and resolved to do what must be done.
If they do not do it, Dante will kill them, and I’m not strong enough to stop him.
He remembered the time he’d stood up against Dante’s orders, the look in his master’s eye, the whiplash of magic that scored his back and his arms with burning pain.

“So be it,” agreed Stephen, and unlooped his belt.

“What’s that for?” demanded Truffo.

“Garrote,” said Stephen, as though that were a stupid question.

“That’s not a garrote, it’s a belt.”

“Well, we’ll have to make do! We don’t have a real garrote.” Stephen swatted at him. “When we find him, you distract him, and I’ll throttle him with this. And you get him by the feet.”

“How?” Truffo looked stunned. “What’ll I get him with?”

“I don’t know, tie his shoes together if you have to, boy!”

Karaburan nodded eagerly.
Dante doesn
’
t wear shoes,
he thought, excited at the thought of Truffo’s misfortune on that front. It was strange, but as soon as they’d stepped into the cave, Karaburan felt his mind shifting, his allegiance to these strange castaways melting. It was as though that vision of Mira had never held sway over him. He felt giddy and anxious, but somehow pleased, as pleased as a shark that has cornered its prey in the lagoon.

Stephen began to creep forward, heading deeper into the cool shadows of the cave with Truffo clinging to his shirt and Karaburan bringing up the rear. They moved carefully down the narrow passageway until it opened up into a wider sort of chamber with several passages branching off.

“Which way?” whispered Stephen.

“Straight ahead,” Karaburan answered, and hoped it had not sounded too eager. “His chambers lie at the heart of the caves. Go on and I will follow you.”

“Shouldn’t you go first, since you know which way is which?” Truffo demanded.

“Shush!” Stephen admonished with a wave of his hand, the belt flopping in his grasp. “We go forward.” He headed toward the middle path, Truffo whimpering behind him. Karaburan hesitated, listening carefully.

He’s here somewhere,
thought Karaburan. His insides churned in both fear and elation. Stephen and Truffo soon vanished into the dark shadows ahead, leaving him standing behind in the larger room. He moved to follow them, but a voice stopped him.

“Karaburan,” Dante whispered, stepping out of another passage.

Oh, no.
Karaburan crouched, cowering in his usual show of obeisance. Fear pulsed through him, overriding the joy he’d felt mere moments ago. “I brought them to you,” he mumbled quickly, betraying his new lords before he could stop himself. Being so near his master was agony, like a pressure inside his mind that he could not drown out with sound or thought. He lowered his eyes. “I found them, brought them here to you, as you did order long ago: any men washed ashore, living or dead, must be brought before you, Master.”

Dante moved into the room, as silent as a shark in the shallows. His slender form was shrouded in his rags and tatters, and his ragged cloak swept the rocky floor of the cave, a haunted whisper of fabric that bounced off the ceiling of the chamber. Karaburan saw that Dante’s brow and hands were covered in black soot. He had seen this soot on him once or twice before, and knew that it meant he had been hard at work with some black art or another.