The Trespass(77)

Two names. Kadesh. Korumak. Dracup stored the information and waited to see what would happen next. He realized that, to these priests, Mukannishum was as much an outsider as he was. An important one, maybe, but not one of them. They were suspicious and their suspicions had evidently been confirmed. Mukannishum glared at the men and resumed his task.

What happened next surprised Dracup as much as it surprised Mukannishum. One of the priests produced a long blade from beneath his garment and swept it across Mukannishum’s legs, disabling him in one stroke. The giant fell to the floor with a look of amazed horror on his face. Blood leapt from the wounds and spattered the onlookers in a rush of gore. Dracup heard Bek give a shout of revulsion and stepped back involuntarily, expecting the priest to turn on him as well. But the man with the sword had his attention firmly fixed on Mukannishum, who was lying on his back attempting to sit up. A pool of blood was forming around the stricken man’s body.

Dracup looked from the priest back to Mukannishum, profoundly shocked. Mukannishum was ranting at his assailant. The priest barked a reply and Mukannishum twisted his mouth into a snarl. A sliver of metal appeared in his hand and the wrist twisted to flick the knife at its target, but the priest was quicker: stepping forward he pinned Mukannishum’s arm to the floor and kicked the knife away disdainfully. The other priests, silent up to this point, began chanting rhythmically, their voices echoing round the building like monks at plainsong. Dracup edged back another metre and found Bek squatting miserably behind him. “What are they saying, Bek? What’s happened?”

Bek clung to Dracup’s leg. “They fall out with the long man, boss. He want to take the cross away. They say no, it belongs here. They will not allow him to have it. Long man says they are wrong – he is faithful to the Korumak Tanri, to Kadesh. And so should they be. But boss –” Bek grasped Dracup’s arm, “– they think you want the same – they –”

A priest appeared at Dracup’s side and struck Bek across the face. The boy reeled away into the darkness. Dracup’s hands were bound and he was pushed forward. Mukannishum groaned as he was lifted and carried to a low door recessed in the rock immediately behind the altar. Dracup was prompted to follow, and ducked to clear the rough ceiling of the passageway. Hands pushed at his back and shoulders so that he almost stumbled and fell several times as he attempted to negotiate the steep and uneven route chosen for them by the priests. Priests? What sort of priests carry scimitars under their vestments?

He wondered what had happened to Bek, but couldn’t turn to look in case he did himself an injury on the ceiling or the irregular path. He could hear Mukannishum shouting somewhere up ahead – whether in fear or pain he couldn’t say – and felt his breath hot in his chest as the pace increased. They evidently wanted him somewhere in a hurry. Presently he felt cooler air on his face and was able to straighten his back. He looked up. The passageway was open to the stars, and with the light given by these and a full moon Dracup was at least able to walk without fear of falling. The priests resumed their plaintive hymns as they walked, a spiritual, mournful refrain with a slow, deliberate tempo. The cadences of the melody boded ill for his future. Dracup looked around in desperation but there was nothing to see, just the shadow of the mountain, the silhouettes of his escort and Mukannishum’s arachnid body writhing in protest somewhere up ahead.

The song finished abruptly and he was forced to a halt by a firm grip on his arm and the back of his neck. The escort fanned out in a semicircle; Mukannishum was unceremoniously dumped on the ground like so much unwanted baggage. He screamed as his mutilated legs made contact with the earth. Dracup winced and quashed the instinctive response to help. There was nothing he could do. Two priests grabbed hold of Mukannishum’s legs, an action that drew an unearthly, high-pitched shriek from the prostrate man’s lips, but the cry was cut short as his arms were held and he was swung like a pendulum, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. Perplexed, Dracup wondered what they were doing. Then he looked down and realized they were standing on the edge of a pit; he could see its sandy coloured floor clearly in the moonlight. A few scattered rocks broke the even surface, along with a smattering of dark, scrubby grass and a squat, grey tree trunk fixed in the centre.

Dracup watched impotently as Mukannishum was released into the air and fell helplessly, arms and legs cartwheeling in protest, into the void. He hit the ground with a muffled groan and lay still. Then the nearest priest turned to Dracup. He tensed his muscles but knew it was a hopeless resistance; quickly overpowered by lean, black arms he was cast after Mukannishum like a puppet. Dracup tried to relax and roll, but mistimed it and hit the ground hard. The impact drove the breath from his body in a lung-emptying whoosh of air. His head followed his body, and gravity did the rest. The world uncoiled through a reverse telescope and the final pinprick of light went out like a snuffed candle.