John Bowman's Cave by Erron Adams

Author:Erron Adams [Adams, Erron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780987628510
Publisher: Bright Stream
Published: 2019-05-19T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

The Centre Of The Story

“What do you mean, he's gone? Roop, get this right: you've left a Pack member out there!” Yalnita's tone blanched the normally articulate man, who could only splutter in defence.

“We sat to talk... Just a minute or so, I think. The next I remember is waking with this foul head, and my sword and knife gone. Obviously a Migril. And no John Bowman. At first I thought he'd run to catch up with you, to get help, but now...now I see I'm wrong.”

Oyen was furious. “John Bowman would never run and leave you in a fight, Roop. I can't believe you'd think that!"

Yalnita slapped Oyen's shoulder. “Enough!” She turned back to Roop. “Well, you'll just have to go back and get him! Take Oyen and Lowery with you, as backup for your befuddled brain.”

“But it's dark, Yalnita!” said Lowery. “He wasn't on the path, so he must have left it. We won’t find him unless we leave it, too. No point in doing that until daylight.”

“I don't care. Take lamps and search back to the place he and Roop stopped. Call out for him; he can't have gone far.”

“Unless the Migril took him,” Roop said quietly.

“That's unlikely for a Migril, Roop; they're gentle souls, as a rule,” said Regrais.

“I'd like to swap my gentle head for yours, in that case!”

“Oh shut up, you two. I'll come with you, Oyen,” said Caylen.

“No!” Yalnita's voice rang sharp in the quiet night. “You'll stay here.” For a moment she opened her mouth to explain, but then she thought better of it. She turned to Roop. “Now go and get your Pack brother!”

***

From the small tree he'd been tied to, Bowman watched them as they huddled about the campfire.

Their speech sounded like nothing he'd ever heard, a stream of high pitched whines, punctuated with nasal grunts and augmented with much hand signing. The whole conversation teetered on the brink of violent outburst whenever more than one spoke, which was much of the time.

It was such an alien spectacle he wondered if they were some native tribe he'd not yet met, and that they'd stolen the rags they wore. But slowly, the reality sank in.

Something had happened to these Outlanders in the passage, something had mauled them as they came through from the old world. Something that resulted in the pathology Elsis had alluded to.

And it wasn't just the way they spoke. Their mangled hands continually brushed at ill-healed lesions on their faces. They wore no boots on their grotesquely twisted feet, though one had tried to make leather rags do the job, cinching the sorry result above the ankle.

Despite his treatment, Bowman pitied them, and he made to break the impasse with an entreaty.

“Look,” he said, and three heads snapped in his direction. Six malevolent eyes drilled him, and he went on quickly, “Look, we're all Outlanders here, we should talk. I…I've seen things that can maybe help you.”

They growled lowly, looking at each other. Finally, the one with makeshift boots shook his broken hands at his companions and stood up, drawing a knife as he did.

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