CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE—THE YAMU
As they ran, Shiro shouted up to Razul and Debaku, while they shouted back, none of the words distinguishable through the trees and the calling animals in the night.
Despite their ruckus, the jungle was still alive with life and behind them the primitives pursued, shouting and calling out to one another with loud signals that sounded much like some of the animals in this place.
Shiro’s throat was beginning to burn, but he kept his pace, running through the forest and trying to keep an eye on the two men in front of him so he would be safe from overhanging branches and the like.
But when he cleared a large leaf, he nearly ran into a fallen tree that was elevated from the ground by half a pace. Had he hit that tree, he would have been in pain, possibly writhing on the ground.
Jumping, he cleared the tree and continued running, his feet taking a beating, though not as bad as the beating they had taken when he was first isekaid to the desert.
Up ahead the sound of a constant hiss washed through the trees and Shiro understood that sound to be a waterfall.
Razul shouted up ahead. “Here! Here!”
Shiro followed Razul into the river. The waterfall was just on their right, falling off an elevated plateau that had not been visible through the trees while they were in the primitive’s hilltop camp.
“What are you doing?!” Debaku demanded as Razul waded deeper into the cool waters glistening with silver moonlight directly for the edge where the waters were falling away.
“They will not find us under here.”
“That is foolish,” Debaku called.
“No, no, trust me I—“
He screamed, his arms flailing and his body disappearing.
“Raz!” Debaku shouted.
“Where is he?” Shiro asked, splashing beside Debaku in the water.
The Mar’a Thulian pointed emphatically with his sword. “I think he fell down another fall.”
“Nani?!” Shiro asked, following Debaku through the water.
They were both able to glance down the waterfall as the primitives came up behind them, shouting and throwing spears.
One of the large shafts nearly hit Debaku, but he turned his shoulders and missed the strike. Shiro knocked a shaft out of the air that had been aimed for his chest with his sword.
He glanced to Debaku near the edge. “We have no choice! We must jump!”
And he jumped.
Shiro sighed heavily and waded through the water as fast as he can, all the while cutting arrow shafts out of the air and dodging spears that fell into the water.
This was the jinni’s fault!
Just go! she suddenly conveyed.
Falling over the edge, he screamed. “Curse you, Jessamine!” he bellowed, and jumped away from the water and after the other man.
When he landed the force of the water rushing up against him nearly ripped his jacket off, the waters pummeling and roiling him about underneath the surface.
He opened his eyes and glancing about as he was flipped end over end. The force of the fall was pummeling him down to the bottom while at the same time the river almost seemed to be flowing backwards, kicking him into that buffeting current. He screamed, kicking his legs as his lungs began to burn.
He could not escape the current.
Not like this.
A blue plume of light appearing near him and he saw Jessamine floating still underneath the water, her hair spread out as if the current had no effect on her.
She grabbed him then under both arms and kicked her legs up toward the surface. Lungs burning, Shiro moaned under the water as bubbles came out of his mouth. When he broke the surface he gasped loudly.
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“Be careful!” she said. “You could have drowned, Shiro”
He coughed. “Ari—Arigatou!”
“Now come on, Shiro!”
He kicked his legs while Jessamine pulled him along, her swimming ability like that of a dolphin. It was very impressive, and all the while the pyramid in the distance was more fully visible, but it was still far away from and situated down a cascade of falls. The thing had looked large before, but in its fuller splendor, it was grandiose beyond belief.
“It must…”—he swam—“It must have taken them a thousand years to build this!”
Ahead in the moonlight the water shimmered, breaking where there were protruding rocks and where Debaku and Razul swam on the surface, kicking and splashing their way down the river.
Still swimming beside him—though Shiro didn’t know why—Jessamine said, “Not if you have a million slaves to build it for you.”
He made his way toward shore where the others were stepping out. “A million slaves? That is not possible.”
“Look at that!” Razul wondered aloud. “I have never seen such a thing in my life, but I have read about these pyramids. I thought it was…”
“Exaggeration?” Debaku finished for him. “tales?”
Razul glanced at Shiro and Jessamine, his eyes lingering on Jessamine for a little while as he looked at her up and down. Then he turned to Debaku and nodded as they all marveled at the pyramid rising above the forests.
Just then a flock of birds cried out, their wings all at once beating as they alighted into the moonlight in a flutter of wind and noise. They flew in a line across the sky toward that monumental structure.
In the distance some animal cried out in the night, howling for meat.
Shiro saw Jessamine, regarded her and realized her wet dress was sticking heavily to her breasts, her more delicate feminine parts somewhat visible through the sheer fabric.
She turned to Shiro and grinned. He had to remind himself that Jessamine was not one to recoil in fear or embarrassment due to the exposure of her own nudity. Weather she did this on purpose just now or by accident, he also did not know, though he suspected it was the former.
A noise came from the forest beyond, the sound of men chanting a low deep-voiced song full of rhythm and catechism.
They glanced that way.
“What is that?” Razul asked.
Debaku lowered himself and moved forward further up the river bank. Shiro followed them through the trees. They came to a large rock protruding out of the ground and overlooking what was clearly a road.
“Down!” Debaku hissed.
Razul and Shiro lowered themselves, but not before Shiro managed to see.
There were dozens of men, all wearing those strange masks. The one in the front had a plume of feathers that formed a headdress so large, he wondered how the man could hold it all up, as it shot out the back of his mask, went up and then flared downward. This lead man was bedecked in heavy necklaces of gold and red rubies and in his hand was a scepter with the head of a creature—something not human. From his other hand incense burned, leaving a trail of smoke behind him where a double file of warriors with sharp knives ambled forward with him.
Behind the warriors was a palanquin, a figure sitting lazily atop it and behind another double file with at least twenty more warriors.
A grey and bushy tailed swished through the air from atop the palanquin and Shiro narrowed his eyes, realizing the shirtless man had the face of a cat.
Jessamine sighed. “The Yamu,” she said.
“Yamu?” Shiro asked.
“Yes,” she said. “An ancient race—some of the ones responsible for the pyramids. I have never seen them before.”
The man with the cat-like features wore a short wrap around dress with a golden buckle at the front and jewels encircling his waist, much like the masked humans, though far finer. In his hand a long pipe smoked. Shiro caught a glimpse of the green eyes, flaring in the night like a wild beast’s. The grey fur was spotted with darker streaks and yellow spots.
“So they are demi-humans,” Razul said. “Do we care?”
“They are dangerous,” Jessamine said.
“Really? Debaku, is this true?”
He shrugged. “I do not know. I have never seen these peoples before.”
The palanquin skirted by below them as they watched from atop the rock. Because of the vine cover, they had ample foliage to hide behind and so where not spotted by the primitives.
“It is as I thought,” Jessamine said. “The primitives—they are the Yamu’s slaves. It is they who build the pyramids here. Darius sent expeditions down the Eiphr before, but they never returned.”
“I thought you said he did not,” Shiro hissed.
“I said he didn’t bother venturing here,” she said, “meaning he never sent his armies. But he did send some few scouting expeditions, Shiro.”
He nodded. “Hm. I wonder why they did not return. So far we have not had that much trouble.”
She looked at him.
Shiro shrugged. “Just one boat. The army is on the way.”
“Either way,” Jessamine said. “I think travelling through these lands must be a death trap. I suggest you keep to the river.”
Nodding stoically, Shiro said, “We must find Ushtan and the others. You said they would be at the pyramid?”
“Primitives are all the same,” she said. “If they are not going to eat you—they will sacrifice you to their gods.”
Shiro raised an eyebrow at her evident prejudice toward primitive peoples—humans or otherwise. But in this instance, she seemed to be correct, though so far cannibalism and sacrificial rites were yet to be seen.
“Then they will have taken them to the pyramid,” Debaku said.
Jessamine nodded. “I don’t like this place. If it were up to me, Shiro, I would kill them all.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps it is before my time, but Avarnis is known as a dark kingdom of evil gods. Many a jinni have been enslaved by these peoples.”
“By them?” Razul asked, pointing a thumb back the way the palanquin had gone. “I find that hard to believe.”
“I do not know the particulars, but there exists much bad history from this place.” She glanced off into the distance. “This place may be better left alone.”
Shiro nodded. “We will leave. Once we gather our allies.” Then he stood up. “We need to keep moving.”
“I agree,” Debaku said with a nod.
Razul sighed. “I was having fun before, but this is starting to send shivers up my spine.”
“Stop complaining, Abassir,” Debaku said. Then he grinned. “You are worse than my old grandmother.”
“You have a grandmother?!” Razul said in surprise. “She’s still alive.”
Debaku rolled his eyes and stalked off.
“No, seriously, man—how old is she?”
“Come on,” Shiro said.