Restless Soul - Alex Archer [14]
Worse, what if her nerves were jangling because of Luartaro? Was either of the men in danger—or dangerous? Would Roux know what was troubling her?
No, it’s the caves, she thought. Maybe not the caves themselves, but something in the mountains.
She realized Luartaro was talking, and she’d missed most of what he’d said—something about the limestone formations they’d seen yesterday.
Zakkarat chattered, too.
She pretended to be distracted by the scenery and pushed their voices to the background.
Her mind touched Joan’s sword—her sword. It waited for her.
But it would have to wait for quite some time, she thought. It had no place in her vacation—especially with Luartaro around. She didn’t want him to see that part of her life. Still, its presence reassured her.
The Jeep slid to the side of the trail, the front bumper coming to rest against an acacia tree as mud flew away from the back tires.
The jolt jarred Annja into alertness.
The trail they’d been bouncing along had suddenly disappeared, as if the jungle had reached out and swallowed it.
“The rest of the way we go on foot,” Zakkarat said. He turned off the engine, pocketed the keys and grinned at Annja. “God is washing away a lot of man’s dirt today.” He eased out of his seat and slogged to the back, fitting the largest pack over one shoulder and a coil of rope over the other. He put on one of the helmets so he would not have to bother carrying it. “Good thing you two wore boots today. And a good thing it does not rain inside the caves. We can dry out quickly inside.”
Luartaro took another pack and the second coil of rope, also putting on a helmet and gallantly leaving Annja the smallest pack to carry.
The rain was coming down harder, thrumming against the hood of the Jeep. It splattered against the big leaves and the mud and her shoulders, then against the helmet she put on. She fell in behind Zakkarat and Luartaro and continued to listen to the rain.
“You walk fast,” Zakkarat said after half a mile or more had passed. “Good thing, that. It leaves more time for the caves and less time in the mud. Most people, the tourists, they don’t walk so fast as you.”
Annja noted that Zakkarat was in good shape, no doubt from walking so many miles daily to take tourists to Tham Lod. She could have easily outpaced him, though; she was in that much better condition.
He told them that the last time he brought a few people this way it had taken nearly two hours to reach the first cave. They managed it in less than one, the mountains looming before them. The rock face they started to climb was slick from the rain.
As Annja worked her fingers into a crack, slid her foot sideways to find a purchase, she grumbled to herself that this was why the typical tourist was not directed this way.
Her foot slipped and she teetered, held in place by just the tips of her fingers and willpower. She fought for balance and slowly righted herself, pressing tight against the cold, wet stone. The rock felt good against Annja’s fingers, and her muscles bunched as she pulled herself up behind Luartaro. The exertion was welcome. Even the thrill of almost falling was welcome. It brought a slight flush to her face and chased away the unnatural cold that had been teasing at her gut.
The first chamber was nearly three hundred feet above the jungle floor, and it was a tight fit to step inside, though from the rock face it had looked to have been larger in earlier years. An earthquake or rock slide had narrowed it.
Luartaro had to shrug off his backpack before he could slip in.
Once past the opening, Zakkarat lit a gas lantern and passed Annja a dented flashlight.
“In case,” he told her. “You should always carry a flashlight in case something happens to the lantern.”
“I have one, too—a flashlight,” Luartaro said, slapping a deep pocket in his khaki pants. “And some extra batteries.” He stroked his chin and the stubble that was growing there. “So tell us about this particular cave.