The Descent

He  pulled  out  a  small  packet  of  leather  patches,  each  roughly  the  size  of  a  baseball card, and handed them to her. They  had been sliced  in  a  neat  rectangle  and  tanned  to stay  soft.  At  first  Ali  thought  the  leather  was  vellum  of  some  kind,  and  that  Ike  had used them to trace  or write  on. There  were  faint colored designs on one side. Then she saw that the colors came from tattooing, and the weltlike ridges were  keloid scars,  and there  were  tiny, pallid  hairs.  It  was  skin,  all  right.  Human  skin.  Hadal  skin.  Whatever this  was.  Ike  did  not  see  her  misgivings;  he  was  too  busy  arranging  the  strips  on  her still,  cupped  palms.  He  gave  a  running  commentary,  intent,  even  scholarly.  'Two weeks  old,'  he  said  of  one.  'Notice  the  twisted  serpents.  I've  never  come  across  that motif. You can feel them twining together,  very  skillful, whoever  incised him.'

He  laid  a  pair  of  patches  side  by  side.  'These  two  I  got  off  a  fresh  kill.  You  can  tell from  the  linked  circles,  they'd  been  travelers  from  a  long  way  off,  from  the  same region.  It's  a  pattern  I  used  to  see  on  Afghans  and  Pakis.  Captures,  you  know.  Down beneath the Karakoram.'

Ali was staring as much at him as at the skin pieces. She  had  never  been  squeamish, but she was stilled by  his collection.

'Now here's the shape of a beetle, can you make that out? See how the wings are just opening?  That's  a  different  clan  from  others  I've  known,  closed  wings,  wings  wide. And  this  one  here  has  got  me  stumped,  it's  nothing  but  dots.  Footprints,  maybe?  A counting of time? Seasons? I don't know.

'Obviously  this  is  a  cave-fish  design.  See  the  light  stalks  dangling  in  front  of  its mouth? I've  eaten  fish  like  that.  They're  easy  to  catch  by  hand  in  shallow  pools.  Wait for the light to flash, then grab them by  the stalks. Like pulling carrots or onions.'

He  set  down  the  last  of  his  patches.  'Here's  some  of  the  geometries  you  see  on  the borders  of  their  mandalas.  They're  pretty  standard  for  down  here,  a  way  to  ritually enclose  the  outer  circle  and  hold  in  the  mandala's  information.  You've  seen  them  on the  walls.  I'm  hoping  someone  in  our  bunch  can  figure  them  out.  We've  got  a  lot  of smart  people here.'

'Ike.' Ali stopped him. 'What do you mean "fresh  kill"?'

Ike  picked up the two patches she was referring to. 'A day  old. Maybe  two.'

'I mean, what. What was killed? A hadal?'

'One of the porters.  I don't know his name.'

'We're missing a porter?'

'More  like  ten  or  twelve,'  Ike  said.  'You  haven't  noticed?  In  twos  and  threes,  over the past week.  They're  sick of Walker's bullying.'

'Does  anyone  else  know?'  No  one  had  remarked  on  this  to  her.  It  signified  a  whole other level of the expedition,  one  that  was  darker  and  more  violent  than  she  –  or  the other scientists – had comprehended.

'Of course. That's  a lot of hands to lose.' Ike  could have  been talking about animals  in a mule  train.  'Walker's  got  more  of  his  troops  patrolling  the  rear  than  the  front.  He keeps  sending them off to catch one of the runaways.  He wants to make an example.'

'To punish them?  For quitting a job?'

Ike  looked  queerly  at  her.  'When  you're  running  a  string  of  men,'  he  said,  'one runaway  can  turn  you  inside  out.  The  whole  bunch  can  come  apart  on  you.  Walker knows  that.  What  he  can't  seem  to  get  through  his  skull,  though,  is  that  by  the  time they  run  away,  it's  too  late  to  keep  them.  If  they  were  mine,'  he  added  frankly,  'it would be different.'

The  stories  about  Ike's  slaving  were  true  then.  In  some  capacity  or  another,  he'd ruled over  his fellow captives. She could try  his dark alleys  another  time.  'And  so  they caught one of the runaways,' Ali stated.

'Walker's  guys?'  Ike  stopped.  'They're  mercenaries.  Herd  mentality  rules.  They're not going to spread themselves  out or search deep. They're  afraid.  They  drop  an  hour behind, stay  clustered, come back in again.'

That  left  one  option,  as  far  as  Ali  could  see.  It  made  her  sad.  'You  did  it  then?'  she said.

He frowned, not understanding.

'Killed the porter,' she said.

'Why would I do that?'

'You just said, to make an example. For Colonel Walker.'

'Walker,' Ike  snorted. 'He'll have  to do his own killing.' She was relieved.  For a moment.

'This  poor  fella  didn't  make  it  far,'  Ike  said.  'I  doubt  any  of  them  did.  I  found  him mostly rendered.'

Rendered?  That   was   something  you   did  to  slaughtered   cattle.   Again,  Ike   was matter-of-fact.

'What  are  you  talking  about?'  she  asked.  Had  one  of  the  escaped  porters  turned psychotic?