The Descent

Ike  darted  his  head  out  the  window.  Hadals  were  scaling  the   fortress   face,  all merging toward him. He took quick,  careful  aim  at  the  amphorae  he  had  strung  along the  fortress  crown,  and  fired  three  times,  each  time  rupturing  a  clay  vessel  and igniting its oil. In sheets  of  flame,  the  oil  poured  down  the  wall.  The  hadals  scrambled right  and  left  on  the  vertical  face.  Some  jumped,  but  several  were  caught  in  the  first phase.

The  blue  flames  curdled  down  the  stone  in  diminishing  streams.  A  storm  of  arrows and  stones  rattled  against  the  wall  outside  his  window.  Some  arced  inside.  He  had

their attention now.

Ike  could  hear  more  scurrying  up  the  tower  stairs,  and  calmly  stepped  to  the doorway. He put a single shot through the mass of amphorae roped above  the  landing. Oil  from  twenty   jars   gushed   down  the   stairs,   a  cataract   of  fire.  Hadal  screams guttered  up.

Ike  went  to  the  rear  window  and  called  Ali's  name  again.  This  time  he  saw  a  single tiny  light  working  down  the  corkscrew  trail,  a  half-mile  deep.  That  would  be  human, he  knew.  But  which  human?  He  reached  for  his  stolen  M-16.  He'd  shot  the  clip  dry, but its sniperscope still worked.  He  thumbed  the  On  switch  and  swung  it  through  the depths  and  found  the  light.  It  was  Troy  down  there,  with  the  feral  girl.  Ike  smeared his cheek against the rifle stock. Ali was nowhere to be seen.

That  was when he heard her.

Her  echo  seemed  to  rise  up  inside  his  skull,  and  through  the  flames  in  the  landing and from deep within the building. He put his ear against the stone. Her  voice  was  still vibrating, coming through the walls.

'Oh, dear God,' she suddenly groaned, and his heart  twisted  in his chest. They  had her.

'Just wait,' she pleaded. This time her  voice  was  more  distinct.  She  was  trying  to  be courageous, he knew her. And he knew them.

Then she said something that froze him. She spoke the name of God. In hadal.

There  was no mistaking it. She placed the clicks and glottal halt and words just right. Ike  was stunned. Where could she have  learned  that?  And  what  effect  would  it  have? He waited, head tight against the stone.

Ike  was wild with fear for her. He was helpless here.  He  had  no  idea  where  she  was, on  the  floor  below  or  in  some  deeper  room.  Her  voice  seemed  to  be  coming  from throughout the  fortress.  He  wanted  to  run  in  search  of  her,  but  didn't  dare  leave  this one sweet  spot on the wall. He lifted his ear, and her voice ended. He set  it back on  the planed stone, and she was there  again. 'Here,' she said. 'I have  this.'

'Keep talking,' he murmured, hoping to unravel her location. Instead  she started  playing a flute.

He  recognized  that  sound.  It  was  that  bone  flute  Ike  had  discarded  months  ago  on the  river.  Ali  must  have  kept  it  as  a  memento  or  artifact.  Her  effort  was  little  more than a few toots and a whistle. Did she really  think that would speak to them?

'Well, Ike,'  she suddenly said. But she was talking to herself. Saying good-bye. Ike  got to his feet. What was happening?

He rushed to the opposite window as a  group  emerged  from  the  gateway.  Ali  was  in their center. As they  crossed the beach, she was tied and limping, but alive.

'Ali,' he shouted.

She looked up at his voice.

Abruptly  a simian shape reared  up in the window,  toes  scraping  for  purchase  on  the sill.  Ike  tumbled  backward,  but  it  had  him,  ripping  long  furrows  with  its  nails.  Ike pulled  the  pink  sling  across  his  chest  and  slid  his  shotgun  underarm,  from  back  to hand, and pulled the trigger.

When  he  saw  her  again,  Ali  was  on  one  of  the  rafts,  and  not  alone.  The  raft  was moving  away  from  the  beach,  drawn  from  beneath  by  amphibians.  She  sat  in  the prow,  looking  up  at  him.  Ali's  captor  turned  to  follow  her  glance,  but  was  too  distant for  Ike  to  identify.  He  reached  for  the  night  scope  and  panned  across  the  water,  in vain. The  raft had passed around the cliffside.

That  was all Ike  had time for.

He was the last of their enemy,  and they  were  climbing the walls to  get  him.  Quickly now, Ike  fished above  the window. The  primacord  lay  where  he'd  tucked  it  in  a  niche. Stealing  a  demolition  kit  from  the  mercenaries  had  been  disgracefully  simple.  He'd had  days  to  place  the  C-4  and  hide  the  wires  and  rig  the  heavy  jars  of  oil.  With  two

deft  motions,  he  spliced  the  leads  to  the  hell  box  and  gave  the  handle  a  sharp  twist and a pull-out and a push-in.

The  fortress  seemed  to melt in upon itself. The  amphorae of oil erupted  like  sunlight along the crown of the building, even  as the crown shattered  to rubble.