Page 43 of The Eyes of Tamburah
CHAPTER
8
A scream lodged in her throat as she clawed the air, seeking purchase. The two men stood dispassionately, watching her fall. Shyla gasped as terror and gravity gripped her. Wind rushed by in the opposite direction. Her clothes flapped. Her stomach flipped. Darkness closed around her. No one would mourn her.
She hit something soft and yielding. And for a half a heartbeat she stopped moving. Then she was flung up into the air. She shrieked and flailed in the current before she plunged down, paused, and rose again. This repeated a few times—each time the motion shortened until, at last, she rested on…she’d no idea. Except it saved her life.
Breathless, she lay there with her arms pressed to her chest. Her heart thumping under her fingertips. The air still flowed past her. Once she calmed, she explored the strange fabric underneath her with her hands—a crosshatching of thin ropes? She spread her arms wide. How far did it extend? Better yet, did she dare move to find out? Without any light to see, she might roll off and continue her fall. She shuddered.
At least she still had her pack and wrap. A small comfort because, if there wasn’t a way to escape, she may have exchanged one death for another. And dying of thirst wasn’t high on her list of things to experience.
With that dire thought as motivation, she sat up. The motion caused ripples. She twined her fingers through the holes and held on. Except for a slight bouncing, nothing happened.
Faint voices echoed. “…know I heard…”
“Imagining things again…”
“Oh yeah, wanna bet?”
A blue-tinted light appeared to her right, illuminating a short tunnel half a meter up the wall. Thankful for the cheap plentifulness of the druks, she had just enough light to determine that the four corners of the…net under her were tied securely to the walls of the air shaft. More good news, there was only a small gap between the net and the tunnel.
The light brightened and two men entered the tunnel, heading straight for her. She struggled to stand, but didn’t have the proper coordination.
They noticed her and slowed.
“See, I was right,” the young man on the left said smugly. “We caught something.”
“You were right all right, Mojag. We caught ourselves a sun-kissed,” his companion said.
“Will she fetch a good price, Jayden?”
“You can’t sell me,” she said.
“Why not?” Mojag asked.
“Because I’m a citizen of Zirdai.”
“If it wasn’t for our net, you’d be adeadcitizen of Zirdai,” Jayden said. “We caught you fair and square. You’re ours.”
“I am very grateful for your net. But you can’t own people.”
“Why not? The Water Prince does it all the time. And you don’t seriously think all the Heliacal Priestess’s deacons are there by choice,” Mojag said.
Shyla suppressed a sigh and sized them up. Both men appeared to be close to her age, although Jayden might be a few circuits older and Mojag a couple younger. To call them grubby was a kindness. They reeked and soot covered every inch of their skin. They might or might not have black hair, depending on how much dirt stained their shoulder-length hair that hung in greasy clumps. At least there were no visible weapons.
Taking out her purse, she shook it. The coins inside clinked together. “How about a deal? You can have everything in here in exchange for my freedom.” She had more in her pack, but no need to divulge that tidbit.
They shared a sly look.
“I’d bet the deacons will pay more than a few coins for her,” Mojag said. “Didn’t they just put a bounty on her capture?”
Oh no, she’d been gone too long and the priestess must believe Shyla ran away. “I have more,” Shyla said, hurriedly. “Help me out of here and I’ll double what’s in here.”
“All right,” Jayden said. He set the lantern down, leaned over and offered her his hands.
She tucked the purse into her pack and covered her bracelet before grasping his hands. He pulled her to her feet and then into the tunnel. Jayden was surprisingly strong and about twelve centimeters taller than her. At this distance his sharp features seemed more natural than due to lack of nutrition. He might even be quite handsome if he bothered to wash. Crinkling her nose, she stepped back. Or tried.
He wouldn’t let go of her hands. “Don’t forget about our deal.”
