Chrys’ own share of fate arrived the next day, shortly after their midday stop for a meal and a rest. The trail had wound its way up a broad valley, and was making the final climb to the saddle at the head. It had left the lower ground to snake above a long, low cliff-line. Chrys, looking ahead, had sighed to see a short climb to where the path was constricted between the cliff and a large rock outcrop with, just glimpsed beyond that, a steeper climb to the pass. At least, she thought, we’ll take a breather at the pass, and make camp not long after that.
She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping a stride or two back from Doryid, who was behind Kosohona who was in turn following Venalse. She had taken three steps onto the short level stretch next to the outcrop when the ground suddenly turned soft. She lurched, flung out an arm against the rock, and then felt her ankles gripped. Steadier, she looked down to see that both feet had disappeared into what felt like very solid ground. She heaved, first with one leg and then the other, to no effect whatsoever. Behind her, Aitonala called out to the leading three to stop.
Chrys heaved again, but the ground was clearly not going to give. “I’m stuck fast,” she called.
“We can throw a rope,” offered Doryid.
“Then what? You pull me over, I get stuck lying down face up. Or you break my ankles. No thanks.”
Grymwer came forward and stabbed the ground with the point of his halberd. It glanced off, ringing. There was a discouraged pause and some muttering about whether a hammer and chisel would have been a better investment than spare clothing. Perhaps, Aitonala suggested, they could climb the rock and pull Chrys out from above. Chrys twisted, tilted her head back as she considered this, her hand on the cliff for balance. Her fingers met sharp,straight edges, and she looked closer to see a sign cut into the rock. It was not one she recognised. She traced it with a finger, brow wrinkled. Was it connected with the trap she was in? Her attention left the sign as she heard a slight buzzing sound. Movement caught her eye and she ducked her head just in time to avoid something pink hitting her face. There was an irritated shriek, shrill but not loud.
“By your left leg,” Aitonala called. Chrys looked down. Hovering by her leg was small doll-like figure, tiny insectile wings blurring, an improbably long tongue probing for a gap in her clothing. She snatched out a dagger and swiped at it, sending the creature spinning. It chittered in rage, then circled her just out of range, darting back and forth, its tongue sometimes waving ahead of it, sometimes trailing behind. Chrys cursed as she twisted, trying to keep it in view, then again as it took advantage of her immobility to dart in behind her back. She felt the tongue trying to work its way under her jacket, and thanked her stars for nomad-style long shirts and wide belts. A blind stab sent it screeching away, to circle again.
“Hold still, young lady, and I will deal with this demon,” came a cry. Chrys risked a glance but then concentrated on the little tongued horror. The others saw a figure mounted on what looked very like a large dog, entirely covered in a grey suit complete with face-mask and waving an iron fly-swatter. Although flying, the dog did not so much swoop as waddle through the air, making a low rhythmic woofing sound. The demon screeched again and went for Chrys’ face. She batted it away with an elbow, the grey-clad figure leaned in and delivered a firm thwack, then dexterously reversed its hold and hit it again with a neat backhand. It disappeared with a thin, fading whistle.
Chrys straightened up and put away the dagger. “My thanks. Can you free me from this trap?”
“Certainly,” came the reply. “It is a little frisky when sprung, so tie this rope under your arms and hang on tight.” She did as instructed, the flying dog backed away and up, the figure pointed a black rod and the earth spat her boots out. Chrys found herself dangling in mid-air, far too high up for comfort.
“Thanks again,” she called. “Could you please put me down on the path over there.” From above there came a cackle, and the dog woofed steadily higher and further away, Chrys swinging below. As the rope twisted, she saw Rakt level his crossbow, lower it in frustration, Kosohona restrain Doryid, then Aitonala snatch out a dart and fling it. It caught her in the leg and then dropped. Afterthat, all she could do was hang on, try not to look down and hope the rope was in good condition.
* * * *
Rakt looked at Aitonala. “Why,” he asked in as neutral a voice as he could manage, “did you wound Chrys?”
“Because I told her it was our best chance of getting her back” Grymwer said. “The kidnapper could fly anywhere, but I don’t think it will be all that far since he’s dangling his victim on a rope and that flying dog is not exactly a greyhound of the air. If we can find the dart, we’ll have some of Chrys’ blood and I can use a spell to locate her.”
“Fat chance of that, given it dropped into the brush,” Rakt observed.
“I noted as closely as I could where it landed. It’s not far from that lone blackwood and this side of the red stickthorn patch to the left of it, if I judged right. I may be able to use the same spell to locate it, but it’s more precise if I am close. If everyone goes down to the area to search while I direct from up here, I think we have a good chance.”
Since it was at least a plan, this was what they did. Rakt dragged a small fallen tree up to cover the suspect patch of trail, they crossed, climbed down to the forest below and, guided by shouts from Grymwer, tried to find the dart. They were about to give up when Aitonala spotted it, nearly buried point-down in the ground. It was dug out with care and carried back to the trail in the fading light. They made a fire-less camp in a thick clump of trees under the ridge, ate a cold meal and tried to get what sleep they could. As the watches changed, each lay for a time speculating inwardly on whether Chrys could be rescued and, if not, the likely effect on the party. It was not a cheerful night.
The search began soon after first light. They made their way up to the saddle and stood anxiously as Grymwer focused on the thin smear of blood wiped from the dart. As he completed the spell a thin blue line appeared above his hands. It wavered back and forth, then settled on a line and began to oscillate. The frequency steadied, it flashed bright green and vanished. Grymwer grunted.
“Less than a thousand paces, and along that line,” he stated, pointing a little north of east. Venalse gave a sharp grin. “Give your gear a quick check, think about how best to sort out a powerful magician and let’s see what we can do.”
They followed the line up the hill cautiously, keeping low and sending Kosohona forward to peek over the crest. At her wave they came up, to look down over a shallow slope ending in a steep drop to a broad forested valley below. Not far from the drop stood a windowless tower, the top shaped like a blunt pencil. The ground was open, and only the wind moved on the boulder-strewn grass.
Venalse looked at Grymwer. “My first thought, yesterday, was that we should climb up to the nearest high point – somewhere around here, in fact – and see what we could see.”
“Well, let’s see what we can see, with some certainty that Chrys is alive and in that tower.”
When no activity was apparent after five minutes, the party went down the slope and approached the tower. There was no visible entrance, no windows and no easy way to climb it. After a check of the base proved fruitless, Grymwer cast the Clinging Grasp on Kosohona, who then climbed to the top. She came back down to report no entrance there, just a capstone that weighed, she estimated, well over a ton. They checked the ground around for some way and anywhere nearby that might conceal a door, to no avail. An hour later they were sitting on the grass, feeling glum. What, they wondered, was happening to Chrys while they mulled a way forward?
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* * * *
Chrys’ leg was bleeding, her arms ached and her head spun. Still, she held on, the rope biting into her torso. At last the dog lifted higher, there was a grating sound from below and she found herself being lowered into a high chamber. The dog swung sideways a little and then began to descend vertically, dropping her into a wide shaft. She dared a look down, to see a floor an uncomfortable distance below, coming slowly closer.
“Yuli, Juin,” called her captor, his voice echoing from the stone. The dog halted in mid-air, too high for Chrys to risk letting go, then resumed its slow fall when a call came from below.
“Just hold the new one until I am down,” came from above. Chrys exited the shaft into a large room, looked down again to see two large figures in red fur waiting. As she came in reach, long arms stretched up, black-nailed hands closed around her with gentle strength and she was set on the floor. She looked again at her captors. Both had the bodies of large apes – female apes, she noted – but the heads of women. The join was imperceptible, broad red-furred shoulders rising to tapering necks. Their faces were closed, neither sympathetic nor gleeful.
The dog came to rest with a final woof, and the rider strode over, unfastening his grey suit as he walked. He nodded thanks to the two ape-ladies, then turned to a shelf of bottles on one wall. When he turned back to Chrys, it was with a bottle and a small brush. She felt a cool touch on the nape of her neck and her hard-won sense of the ether vanished. It was now so much a part of her – the feeling for the currents, eddies, textures and patterns that animated the world – that it was akin to being suddenly struck blind. She cried out, then was furious and kicked back as hard as she could.
“Now, young lady, there is no need for that. I regret the necessity, but it really is to avoid harm to yourself and others. It is a mere temporary measure, I assure you. Now, you will not need your pack, nor your weapons,” he continued, circling around to her front, “so please remove these.”
The ape-lady to her left eased her grip, allowing Chrys to shrug out of her pack. Her bow and quiver and belt with pouches and daggers went next. “I will also need you to remove your clothing,” he went on. Chrys spat a curse, and he hurriedly amended “I mean your outer clothing. Please retain your underwear. You need not fear insult. I am not some kind of pervert. No, I am a serious researcher, dedicated to advancing magical knowledge. You are happily in a position to contribute to that noble cause.”
Resistance was clearly futile. Being forcibly undressed would not only be embarrassing but probably damage her clothes and perhaps herself. Chrys glared but did as bid. Defiance was pointless, while compliance might lull her captor into relaxing his guard. And, if that happened, she promised herself, this loon would have his knowledge advanced in surprising directions. She undressed, was handed a shapeless garment that fastened at the sides and escorted to a cell by the ape-ladies.
Once done swearing, Chrys looked around. The cell was basic but met requirements. There was a bed of wooden boards, a thin pallet and blanket, a covered bucket and another with fresh water and a dipper. Two walls were stone, one with a small hatch, and the other two iron bars. The cell was the last of a row of four, and two others were occupied. The one adjacent contained a large, gently heaving blob which emitted snorts and bubbling sounds. In the furthest one a figure sat hunched on the bed, head in hands. Chrys considered. Noise might bring punishment, but she needed information.
“Hello, you down there,” Chrys called softly. The only immediate reaction was, disturbingly, from the blob. It slowly swivelled until four eyes blinked up at her. One set was blue, the other brown and all were very human in appearance. The blob’s surface rippled and changed colour, very much after the manner of the squid Chrys had seen swimming in the harbour at Mer Ammery. She called again, which set the blob rippling and prompted the figure in the end cell to hunch over more.
Perhaps the blob could provide some answers? She addressed it. “Can you understand me? Blink once for yes, twice for no.” All four eyes blinked once.
“Are you human?” Two blinks.
“Erh, were you human?” One blink.
“One human?” Two blinks.
“Two humans?” One blink.
“Did the magician here do this to you?” One blink.
“Has he done this or the like to others?” One blink.
“Will he do something like this to me?” One blink.
“Has anyone escaped?” Two blinks.
“Have others died?” One blink.
“Can you help me if I help you?” Two blinks.
“Can I help you?” One blink.
“To escape?” Two blinks.
“To heal?” Two blinks.
Chrys ventured a grim guess. “To die?” One blink.
“I will do what I can.” she promised the blob, and went to look over the door, hatch and bars. One never knew. When a bowl of stew was shoved through the hatch she sat down on the bed and ate, then tried to sleep. The blob bubbled away, and she thought to hear sobs from the furthest cell. There was nothing more to be done, and she was sure the party would bend every effort to rescue her.
* * * *
Chrys estimated it was mid-morning when an ape-lady came to fetch her. As before, her gaoler was firm but not cruel, and Chrys tried to strike up a conversation. “Are you Yuli or Juin?”
“Yuli.”
“Did the magician do this to you? I talked to the blob and it did not seem happy, but you do not appear to be so miserable.”
Yuli considered. “I was at first. But I like fruit. And climbing. And being so strong.”
“What would you do if you left here?”
Yuli grinned. “I’d become a pirate. Sorry, but we have to stop talking. Salko likes quiet for his research.”
They had come back to the room she had first seen. Yuli took her over to a wall, fastened manacles about her wrists and ankles and left with a wink and a wave. Maybe she would end up with an ape body too. It would, she thought, cost a fortune in tailoring, at least if she wanted to be seen in polite company. She looked around the room. The flying dog rested in one corner, Salko’s grey coverall hung from a hook, two lecterns supported heavy volumes. More disturbingly, one shelf opposite contained large jars in which floated various body parts, a rack held what looked like surgical instruments and a large bench took up the middle of the room.
She did not have too much time to assess her surroundings, for Salko bustled in.
“Good morning, young lady. I see we are ready to begin.”
“Actually, I could do with a few hours more sleep.”
“Well, I’ll see you get some rest after we’re done here.”
Chrys changed tack. “You must have developed some really interesting spells. I wonder if we could discuss them? I have some rather unusual insights myself, derived from my father’s people.”
Salko was setting out a notebook, pens, tapes, calipers and other tools on the bench. He looked up, interested.
“Oh? What people would that be?”
“My father is a Rai chief, from the northern steppes. They have a lot of magic to do with bones and animals. They are also famous for their dedication to vengeance.”
“Ah, the Rai. That explains the short legs. I was hoping for someone taller, but no matter. We’ll make do. Quiet please.” With that he approached Chrys, removed the garment she had been given and began to take measurements of her body with tape and calipers, noting them down as he did so. Salko then brought a stand over, set a large stone bowl on top and cast a spell. His eyes took on a green cast, and he lent forward to peer closely at various regions of Chrys’ midriff.
“Kidneys in good shape. Bowels fine. Spleen good. Pancreas good. Liver, pretty good, although you might want to cut down on the rich foods and strong drink, young lady. Let’s see, how do the flows look?” Salko adjusted several small wedges about the rim of the bowl, cast another spell and studied the flow of colours within the bowl, made further adjustments and then fetched a paint-pot and small brush. With this he made small precise dots here and there and then drew a line around Chrys’ waist. Salko looked at his notes, made some calculations and then departed the room, humming absently.
Chrys looked down at the line. Maybe, she thought worriedly, this was not going to be a head transplant.