Ajare--Chapter Two

MIA #9 - Ajare
Chapter 2 - Our Lady of Pain
by Russ Massey

 By the hunger of change and emotion,
By the thirst of unbearable things,
By despair, the twin-born of devotion,
By the pleasure that winces and stings,
The delight that consumes the desire,
The desire that outruns the delight,
By the cruelty deaf as a fire
And blind as the night,

 _Dolores_ A. E. Swinburne

 Leela had run her fingers over the entire surface of the stones that she could reach. The walls of the pit were made from shaped stone blocks, apparently just laid one on top of the other. There *were* cracks between them, but none large enough for her fingertips. She could not gain a good enough purchase to allow her to begin climbing. Bones crunched beneath her moccasins as she circled the trap in frustration. She pounded her firsts against the unyielding rock and snarled her fury aloud, so it echoed around her, and the breath spirits carried her cry upward and away. There was no easy way out. She must think.

 

At the Doctor's request Lynch had showed him to the stables. The butler watched impassively as the stranger saddled up one of the carriage horses, fumbling his way through an obviously unfamiliar task.

 'Shall I inform the master as to when you should be expected to return, Sir?'

 The Doctor mounted and gave a cheery wave of his hat. Then he dismounted and remounted facing the horse's head. 'Oh, I really couldn't say with any degree of accuracy. I never did have "the politeness of Kings" - not that many of the Kings I've met had it either. Perhaps you should just tell him to expect me when he sees me. And I'll be sure to return old Harry here.'

 'And what of the young lady who I believe was with you?'

 'Who, Leela? Oh she'll be all right, Lynch. Very resourceful. Make herself comfortable where ever she is. Ah - just one point. If she comes at you with a knife...'

 Lynch raised one eyebrow. 'Yes, Sir.'

 'Offer her a sticky bun.'

 'Very good, Sir.' Lynch coughed. 'The horse's name is Cassiopeia, by the way.'

 The Doctor frowned. 'Oh no. Definitely a Harry.' And with a last wave of his hat he cantered away from the villa and along the moonlit trail that wound down the slopes of the promontory to the village.

 

By now Leela was satisfied that she had found every item the corpses in the pit had been carrying when they fell. Besides the useless scraps of rotted cloth and leather that were all that remained of their clothing she had accumulated: a leather belt in reasonable condition, lots of circular metal things about the size of her thumb that she thought might have been sling stones, a few rings, a heavy metal thing that looked magical and, most importantly, three rusting knives. They were of inferior workmanship and metal to her own, but she thought they would do for what she had in mind. She took the lightest and felt around the wall at waist height for a suitable crack in the stonework. There! The tip of the blade slid in easily, and she hammered a further fingers-span of blade home with the hilt of her own weapon. Carefully she pressed down on the hilt, gradually increasing the pressure until all her weight was taken. It held. Grinning with triumph at her own cleverness she gathered all the bits and pieces she had found and improvised a bundle from some unfortunate's shirt. Putting one foot onto the embedded hilt, she swung her battered, bloody and bruised body up against the wall. It was working. She took another knife and began delicately feeling for another suitable crack.

 

The Doctor reined "Harry" in and peered around. The centre of the village was deserted. Not a light glimmered through any of the shuttered windows. There was no music. There was no sound of voices raised in argument, or in tale-telling or in simple gossip.

 'I know the sun has gone down, but this place is deader than Swansea on a bank holiday. Where are the tavernas? Where are the old men playing bazoukis and the young men eyeing the young women? Where is the sullen and suspicious villager who refuses to answer any of my impertinent questions before slamming his door rudely shut in my surprised face? It isn't natural.'

 'I said,' bellowed the Doctor, causing "Harry" to sidle backwards in alarm, 'It isn't natural.'

 More silence. The Doctor dismounted, picked a house at random and rapped smartly on the wooden door. 'Anyone at home?'

 'I don't think they'll open the door.'

 The soft voice came from over his shoulder, but the Doctor pressed his face to the barrier in front of him and stage whispered as if to someone on the other side. 'Why not?'

 'Because they think that you've come to kill them all.'

 'Who, me? But I wouldn't hurt a fly. Well not unless it threatened the fate of all mankind. Can you speak up a little, it's very hard to hold a conversation through a door.'

 'Behind you, Doctor.'

 The Doctor beamed. 'I do so love a good straight line. This must be the point where I say...' He fell silent as he spun on his heel and took in the nature of just what had been speaking to him. The crimson-hued skin. The eyes that blazed with red fire. The coil of milk-white hair that writhed and twisted as if it possessed a life all its own.

 'They are wrong, of course.' One hand brought up a pulsing rod of green flesh, tipped with hooks and barbs that strained forward as if eager to taste blood. 'It is you who must die. Timelord.'

 

Leela paused for a minute, putting all her weight on the topmost hilt while she caught her breath. Blood from the cuts on her legs had soaked into her footwear, making her footing even more precarious. Her arms ached with the effort of reaching and hammering, but even worse was the strain in other muscles from when she had to crouch and remove blades that were beneath her. She wasn't sure exactly how far she had fallen, but she was certain that she would need to reuse the improvised footholds more than once each. Already one had snapped under her weight, the shards tinkling onto the bones below. Now she had just three together with her own knife, which she was reluctant to use in case the red-eye-woman or the hairy-orange-man attacked her while she was climbing. She craned her neck to peer upwards, but the sky must be covered with clouds. There was no circle of stars to let her judge how far she was from safety.

 She wondered what had happened to the Doctor. If their enemies had slain him, then she would have to avenge his death, until the trees of this world drank blood enough to turn their leaves red. And what then? Could she go home in the box that moved? Of course not, she was no shaman. She would be without tribe, in a strange land. She shrugged.

 One thing at a time. If she died in this hole in the ground all this worrying about maybes would have been wasted. She stretched up to emplace another knife. At the same time there was a grinding crash from below her. Startled, her foot slipped and she fell. She grabbed for the slippery knife hilt with her free hand. It held for one heart-beat and then snapped, and she plunged into the depths once more.

 This time she was prepared, and landed on her feet, knees bent, knife readied. There was a doorway in the stones, where previously there had been nothing. Before she could even move, a pallid tentacle spun out from the darkness and wrapped itself around her waist. Leela slashed down at the flesh, gouging a shallow wound but doing no real damage with the rusty and blunted blade.

 With a keening scream of triumph the attacking thing unreeled another pair of limbs, wrapping one around her legs while the other sought to pin her weapon arm. Desperately Leela flung herself from side to side to avoid being completely immobilised, while she fumbled for the pouch at her side. The thing's grip was terrible, and she felt the breath being forced out of her. The blood pounded in her head, and her vision began to darken as she was denied the oxygen she desperately needed...

 To Be Continued

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