Page 93 of The Burning Mountain
An abrupt crash sounded, interrupting the song, like that of stone grinding on stone. Chandra’s eyes snapped open, and she scanned the scenery. But nothing appeared to have changed, even the guards seemed confused about the origin of the crash.
However, in the next moment, the sound of the waterfalls changed. Despite the conductor barking orders to his men, there was no recovering the earlier tune. What was once pleasing had morphed into a discordant sound that was harsh and grating on the ears. The cut rock faces made it worse, amplifying its intensity.
Everyone clapped their hands over their ears, falling to the ground in agony. The stringed “instrument” continued playing, regardless.
“Someone cut the strings,” shouted the conductor. But the noise drowned out everything until talk was impossible.
Chandra watched as Billadev stuffed his ears with cotton, motioning her to do the same.“I had a feeling we might need them,”he signed to her. They were still able to hear the music without suffering trauma to their ears.
“Remember, loosen the tension first before cutting them,”she signaled back to Billadev, who gave a short nod.
Swords unsheathed, they moved toward the falls.
As they had decided, Chandra went north and Billadev moved toward the southeastern side of the falls. Some of the soldiers, who had the foresight to plug their ears, joined them as well, weapons drawn, the captain among them.
Chandra climbed with the captain alongside her. The moisture made the rocks slippery, so she spent extra time being careful when scaling them.
The sound in the hollow fell as they worked steadily. Chandra was surprised to see the captain helping instead of hindering her. She half expected him to order her to stay away.
A muffled shout made her pause in her task of hacking the wooden pegs that controlled the tension in the strings. She swiveled around and watched as one of the soldiers, in his hurry to stop the harsh sound, made the mistake of cutting the string when it was still taut.
The tensile wires snapped and rose in the air like a cobra, hood flaring, ready to strike dead.
Billadev tackled the soldier just in the nick of time; however, the wire grazed Billadev’s back, and with a heavy grimace, he fell to the ground.
“You saved my life. Thank you,” said the soldier shakily, as Chandra rushed toward them, removing the cotton plugs once the sound fell inside the hollow. Billadev winced and mumbled something.
“Are you all right?” asked Chandra, helping Billadev sit up, then examined his back. He sported a large cut. Fortunately, the string hadn’t decapitated anyone. But it had injured Billadev severely. The cut was deep and bleeding steadily.
Chandra fished out the healing stone Veer had insisted she take with them and held it up to the cut.
“It burns,” said Billadev, tensing.
In the background, Chandra heard the captain directing a search and removed her ear plugs one-handed. The orders briefly distracted her, but she had other things demanding her attention.
“It’s supposed to,” said Chandra grimly, pressing it more firmly into the wound. “The cut is quite deep. It’ll need some stitches, but the bleeding’s a little better. I’m going to remove the stone before it heals the skin completely. Otherwise, you’ll have a wide scar.”
“I’d like one. Gives me sway with the women,” joked Billadev weakly.
“You are needed, Princess.” The captain went to grab her arm but recoiled when Chandra glared at him. “We found an opening beyond the waterfalls,” he said instead.
“Can’t you see he’s hurt?” said Chandra, turning back to her task. An opening? Was that the source of the grinding noise they heard earlier before everything changed?
“We can take care of him. He will be needing stitches,” said the captain, motioning to the other soldiers, who then helped Billadev up and led him away to receive treatment.
“Will he be all right?” she asked, watching them leave.
“Of course. This way…”
Chandra followed him. He took her behind the waterfall, toward the newly discovered opening between rocks. It was a narrow-arched entrance and had a couple of boulders strewn on the uneven floor. She surmised the sound made by the waterfall must have dislodged them.
But was it the melody that moved the rock, or the dissonance of a tune gone awry?
Chandra shrugged mentally. They may not know the answer now. And did it really matter? Her mouth fell open in awe as she gazed at the cavernous interior the entrance led into.
Dominating the damp subterranean chamber stood a majestic four-armed statue ofNataraja, the patron god of dance and arts. A halo of fire sculpted in stone surrounded him as he danced on a lotus-shaped dais.
In front of the statue was another modest figure. That of a woman, made of the same strange material they had encountered earlier on their journey.Moola dhatu.
