I AWAKEN TO SMARTING skin. My back is soaked. Some liquid must have seeped into the spiderweb. My knees are folded against my chest. I hear the slap of water against . . . a riverbank? Kezi’s stream bank?
The water is a few inches deep. I open my eyes. The lids are less swollen. It’s still night or night again or dark as night.
“Kezi?” My voice is muffled, but the webbing across my mouth has loosened.
No answer.
Fear tightens around me.
I call for my soothing wind, but it doesn’t come. I call for my mighty wind, but it doesn’t come. Come! Any wind!
My god’s power has deserted me. Bound, and I have nothing.
How much time has elapsed? Might Kezi’s month have passed? Is she— Will I never—
My hands are spun into fists, but the spiders are gone. Perhaps their departure loosened the threads. I straighten my fingers, pushing against the resistance of the web. I scratch at my left forearm. My nails break through the webbing and expose a little skin. Frantically I scratch. My fingers stick to my arm. Muscles straining, I pull my fingers away, trailing strands that thin and finally snap.
Someone groans—a deep, male groan. A man is curled next to me. There may be others. What horror have I landed in? I peer around.
I’m in a well! In a spiderweb in a well.
I am panting. I close my eyes and imagine the sky.
My winds haven’t deserted me. They can’t come underground. If I can climb out, they will be mine again.
I open my eyes and scratch the webbing again, gritting my teeth, making myself be patient.
The man moans. I see that he and I are alone here. I can do nothing for him unless I am free. Eventually I peel the spider threads from everywhere I can reach. They clump into sticky gobs that I shake into the water, where they sink and then bob to the surface.
The man wheezes. I turn to him and wince. My back hurts!
The man’s hair is bloody, his eyes closed, his left ear and cheek submerged.
I know him. He is Kudiya, whom I last saw building a hut near a new well.
We’re in the new well! Could this be my trial to be Kezi’s champion? Is saving Kudiya what I must do?
The rocks that line the well are wet. Water is trickling in. Tiny rivulets stream downward.
I pray the well was built with care. If not, it could collapse and bury us. I picture the rocks working loose, crashing down.
I close my eyes until I am calmer. Then I pull Kudiya onto my lap and rinse the cut on his head. The blood continues to flow.
He’ll die. The well will cave in. I’ll be immured with his corpse.
His eyelids flutter. I don’t know what light he’s seeing by, but he gets out, “Olus . . . my . . . vision.”
“Can you stand?”
He shakes his head. “Leg.”
I raise his tunic. His right knee is twice the size of his left. It must be broken. He won’t be able to climb out.
“Help!” I shout, tilting my head up. Someone can throw us a rope. We’ll be saved! My voice echoes against the rocks. “Help!”
He coughs. “Gone. . . . Baby.” He huffs out the story. A child has been born in this hamlet’s brother village. Everyone has gone to celebrate. They will be away for days.
The well wall seems to pulse. I imagine pythons oozing between the rocks, winding around me, squeezing me.
I find something nearby to stare at, something not frightening, an inch of Kudiya’s threadbare tunic. The wall is not pulsing. There will be no pythons.
“Fly . . . me. . . .” Kudiya smiles. “God . . . winds.”
“I’ll have to carry you.” I support him as I stand. He’s twig skinny and shorter than I am. The water reaches our ankles.
Ah! The low water means that not very much time has passed since Kezi and I flew over. Her month isn’t over. Somewhere she’s still alive.
I arrange Kudiya’s arms around my neck. “Hang on.”
He hugs me as tight as the spiderwebs, tight as a python, strangling me. He’s turned into a python!
I throw him off.
He’s only Kudiya, but he’s lying facedown in the water. In my madness, could I have killed him? The rocks press in on me. I sway, catch myself, spread my legs for balance. The rocks are not pressing in!
I squat to raise him. He lives! He sputters, coughs up water, and sags against me. I put his arms around my neck again. “Not so tight.”
He grips me just as before. I think him a python again. I tear his arms apart, make sure they are arms, and keep myself from dropping him. “Not so tight!”
Better.
Between the rocks are plenty of handholds and footholds. I step out of my sandals, rise on my toes, and stretch. My fingers find their places. I will do this.
But the rocks are too wet. My fingers slip and slip again.
I put Kudiya down. His chin slumps onto his chest. His every breath is a gasp. He won’t last long without aid from someone who knows how to staunch his bleeding and set his leg.
I shift my position. The pouch at my waist brushes my hip.
My knife!
I pull it out and stab it between two rocks over my head. It holds my weight. Can I grip the rocks with my fingers and toes for long enough to move the knife? I can!
I hang Kudiya’s arms around my neck and insert the knife again. Instantly the drag of him on my shoulders pulls it out. I try a narrower space with the same result. Another attempt. Another failure.
Over and over I stab the rock wall.