Page 67 of The Eyes of Tamburah
“Why am I here?”
Silence.
“Who are you?”
Nothing.
“Please let me go! I don’t care about your agenda. I’ll go back to the monks and you’ll never see or hear from me again.”
No response.
Well, she tried. Shyla thought about her last comment. Would she really return to the monks? Her relationships with them would never be the same as before she’d left. And she’d never get to travel. It’d be just like her current situation, except with sunshine, better food, and no chain…well, not a physical one.
If she lived through this, there’d be no other place to go. No client would hire her, the treasure hunters wouldn’t trust her, and the deacons would be after her. She’d tried so hard to do all the right things, pay her taxes, give her tithe to the church, earn an honest living, and it fell apart after one incident that wasn’t even her fault. Her attempt to save Banqui had failed. And Rendor died. She never should have left the monastery.
But she did. And she was trapped. At least she could try to figure this out. Thinking back to when the light arrived, she reviewed the sequence of events. That strange deep hum had been similar to the low chanting of the wordrelaxthat the man with the knife uttered in her ear before she was…well, whatever he’d done to her. Although it was ridiculous that a word or sound could render a person unconscious, she assumed it worked. Therefore, she needed to plug her ears, blocking the hum the next time the light arrived.
Shyla ripped pieces of her tunic into small strips that she rolled into tubes. It took a few tries to get the rolls just the right thickness to fit into her ear and stay there when she moved. With the tubes dampening all sounds, she practiced the Ways of the Yarin and the moves she’d invented with the chain. Both her sight and hearing would be restricted, so she’d need to depend on touch and smell.
Rolling up her pant legs, she knelt on the ground and settled back on her heels—the best position to quickly launch to her feet. She banged the chain on the floor. A slight vibration brushed her shins and a puff of air grazed her face. Working with other items, she practiced relying on two senses. She only stopped to eat and sleep.
Three sun jumps after the first light appeared, another slow lightening of her prison warned her of her captor’s return. This time, she faced the tunnel, kneeling with a length of chain between her hands and her plugs in her ears. As the light turned painful, she closed her eyes and focused.
Shyla inhaled slowly. The scent of roasted velbloud meat filled her nose with its savory mix of spices. Then the funky odor of sweat mixed with the desert’s fiery hotness. At least two possible opponents. One had recently been on the surface.
A feeble vibration licked her shins as they neared. She tensed. The tremor under her increased into a steady beat. It throbbed inside her leg bones, pulsed in her hips and then gripped her heart, forcing it to follow its rhythm. To slow down. To be at peace. The rhythm unwound her tight muscles. And it didn’t matter how much she struggled to stay…together, she floated like a velbloud on the end of its tether.
With a harsh yank, she plummeted back into the darkness and isolation. Her provisions had been restocked and collection bins once again cleaned. And the useless rolls of fabric remained wedged tight in her ears.
Disappointment, frustration, and anger welled. Grabbing the chain, she hauled on it with all her strength, grunting and cursing until she was exhausted. Shyla slumped to the floor. Perhaps this was the Sun Goddess’s sign to her that the Heliacal Priestess was right. Shyla had cheated death and was cursed.
Lying on her side, she curled up into a ball and unleashed the self pity. It surged through her, knocking out hope, smothering motivation, and extinguishing stubborn persistence. Empty, she remained in place until time ceased to have any meaning. Thirst barely registered. And she had no desire to eat. Her thoughts drifted and memories popped up at random.
One set of recollections kept nagging at her like a child tugging on her sleeve. They were all of when she lived at the monastery. Memories of Hanif chiding her for giving up too easily. The hot tears of frustration. The monks asking the impossible. Brute strength no match against intelligence. The games of strategy that had no solution—or so she thought. The righteous conviction that she’d been right only to have it shattered with the truth.
It was a bleak succession of all the times she’d reached a point of despair. A place where she’d been convinced she could go no further. Yet. She had.
Scorching hells.
Her sulk had run its course. At least Hanif wasn’t there to gloat. Yet, she’d bet he’d just had the sudden desire to arch an eyebrow and ask in a snide tone,Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?
Yes, Hanif I am. And if you have any suggestions on how I can get out of this, now would be a good time to tell me.
No answer. No surprise. He’d let her bang her head against the wall for sun jumps rather than give her the answer.
Shyla clambered over to the table and considered what had happened while she gulped some water and chewed on a jerky roll. Once again she’d been… What? Knocked out? Forced to sleep? Enthralled? Before it’d been a hum and now a vibration. Blocking the sound didn’t work and she couldn’t levitate off the floor. What else could she do? Her limited options didn’t take long to list. If only one of them came close enough for her to—
The answer flashed into her mind, energizing her.
* * *
Approximately nine sun jumps since she’d been caught, the light arrived for the third time. Shyla waited until the sound of boots on the ground reached her. Then she slammed the metal chain on the floor, hard. Sparks flickered along with a loud bang. Shyla kept up the noise, rattling, scraping, banging, and crunching the links on the ground. All to counter their rhythmic humming. Varying the tempo so it was impossible to match, she avoided repeating any patterns.
The light seared her eyes, but it grew brighter than any time before. Progress! She moved around in unpredictable directions, hoping to brush into one of them or catch their scent. Theoretically, their arms would be full with a new supply of provisions. A tactical disadvantage on their part to be exploited by her.
Except this time the persistent humming drilled right into her thoughts. It smoothed her actions until the metal links jingled in an almost musical accompaniment. The weight of the chain grew so heavy, it pulled her down. Turning into a liquid, she poured through the cracks in the floor and dripped into a void.
Jerked up to the surface, Shyla emerged into the blackness, lying on the hard cold ground. Her palms stung and her sweat-damped tunic covered her like a coating of ice. She remained there until thirst drove her to her feet. Bringing the water skin over the wall, she sat against it.
