Heir of Iron

Chapter 11: Navran

(The image above is an original work of art found at http://www.wallsus.com/a/Art/2014/0410/27940.html.)

Part II

Debtor

The sun was on the teeth of the mountain above, and the wind grew cold. The gravel and scree of the path gnawed at Navran's feet. In an hour or so it would be dark. He had to hurry. With a curse he picked a shard of gravel from his sandal and trudged ahead.

A break in the trees offered a glimpse of Ternas at the foot of the mountain. It already lay in the shade, lamps glittering like flecks of gold on the crevices and pillars of the monastery. For a moment the image of a warm room and a padded bed beckoned him. But would they even let him in? In any case, it was too far to turn back.

Now where was the damned cave? If he didn't find it quickly he was going to have to sleep outside, and that was going to make him even unhappier.

The path was a filament of trampled grass and scuffed stone that crawled up the side of the mountain. In the dying sunlight he was apt to miss it. The wind howled. He hurried.

A black depression scarred the face of the rock ahead, and he thought he saw a spark of orange flame inside it. "Finally," he said. He started to jog, bruising his feet on the stony path, until he reached the mouth of the cave. The entrance was low and required him to go on hands and knees, but he was glad to be out of the teeth of the breeze. From deeper within, the orange light grew and promised heat.

Once beyond the mouth, the cave's ceiling rose. Navran straightened. The firelight revealed a long, uneven passage with a worn stone floor and soot-blackened ceiling, worming deeper into the heart of the mountain. A small fire of sticks smelling of cedar burned in the middle of the chamber, trickling white smoke into the air and out the narrow hole above. And next to the fire sat a very old man.

His skeletal arms dangled from a ribcage wrapped in shabby brown skin. The man's legs jutted like sticks from beneath a dirty gray dhoti. A beard dangled off of his face and nearly reached the ground at his feet, and his hair was uncombed, blooming behind his ears like a white mane. His face seemed to be constructed of old leather, oiled brown and pitted with scars, but his expression was blank and unreadable. He watched Navran with black bird-like eyes.

A queer, uncanny shiver passed through him. Navran was not used to having someone examine him this closely, with such lack of shame or propriety. And the old man had an air of the holy about him, like the depths of the Ruin in Virnas or the great temple of Am in Majasravi. Navran stood at the entrance of the cave and waited for the man to say something. Nothing happened for an intolerable length of time. Finally Navran cleared his throat and said, "Are you Gocam?"

"I am," the man said. His voice surprised Navran. It was strong and soft, giving no hint of the man's frail appearance. "What is your name?"

"Navran."

"Why are you here?"

"Because Lama Padnir and Mandhi threw me out of Ternas and told me to come to you."

"You are not a novice thikratta. Lama Padnir sends me novice thikratta. But why are you here?"

"How do you know I'm not a novice monk?"

He blinked once, as if he couldn't fathom why Navran asked that question. "You have the mark of the Uluriya on you, and nothing of the thikratta. But do not try to dissemble. Why are you here?"

"Can I come sit by the fire? It's damn cold outside."

Gocam made a tiny nod towards a place next to him on the stone. Navran took a seat across from Gocam, not too close, but near enough to see the man's chest rise and fall. Sitting so close to the man made him nervous, but there was no other place to sit.