Alex Archer - Restless Soul

She let out a deep breath and hurried to the wall and started climbing. There were pitons in her pack; she’d discovered that while she investigated the contents during the ride in the Jeep. She didn’t need them, however, as she was able to wedge her fingers and the toes of her boots into crevices; natural handholds were abundant.

The muscles in her arms strained as she pulled herself higher. Below her, the water made sounds like the gentle, sonorous noise of a wave meeting a beach.

Zakkarat still chattered, though now she could make out a few English words in the mix. Hurry. Drown. My fault. The words were mixed with an interesting mishmash of Thai and English profanity.

Annja certainly understood his frustration. She wasn’t overly afraid, but she was disappointed. She would have liked to examine the coffins and the carvings she’d noted on one wall. She could have spent hours ruminating over what the people might have been like. She’d intended to take plenty of pictures. And then there was the echoing voice begging for her help….

Within the passing of a few heartbeats she was at the mouth of the dark corridor, grabbing her flashlight and shining it in.

“This tunnel looks to go on for a while,” she called down to Luartaro and Zakkarat. “And it’s wide enough that they could have easily brought the coffins in through it and lowered them into the chamber. There’s a painting on the wall, too, like the one in Tham Lod Cave. The ancient people came this way.”

She turned and peered over the edge. Luartaro grabbed the lantern and waited patiently behind Zakkarat, who had started to climb but nearly slid back down.

Annja cringed when she saw Zakkarat step onto the edge of one of the coffins for a boost.

She’d been so distracted by her thoughts and the water—and the odd, cold sensation that had plagued her off and on—that she hadn’t been thinking clearly.

She should have taken one of the coils of rope from the men. She could be lowering it down at this very moment and helping Zakkarat. He was in good shape, but his large pack made him clumsy and off balance.

She should have come out here alone and not put anyone else in jeopardy. “Wake up, Annja,” she muttered.

She knelt and extended her hand as far as she could reach. “Grab it!” she called out.

A few moments later Zakkarat did just that, and she tugged him up to the narrow shelf.

She took some rope from him and started to drop it over the side.

“I don’t need it,” Luartaro said. Pack over one shoulder, coil of rope over the other and lantern in one hand, he managed roughly the same hand-and footholds that Annja had used. He expended more energy than her, however, as the rings of sweat under his arms were deep by the time he reached her.

“Annja, I watched you in my country and thought you were athletic then. Beautifully so. But here…seeing you climb this stone…you are very impressive.”

She shrugged. “I like watching you, too. I like the outdoors. And I work out a bit.” She smiled and stared down into the chamber.

The water had covered nearly the entire floor and shimmered darkly under the light from the lantern. Annja took a few pictures of the coffins from her high vantage point, knowing they would turn out dark but wanting to preserve the memory of this place.

“After you, Annja.” Luartaro gestured at the opening. He smiled. “Ladies first, as they say.”

Ladies first just so I’ll get going, Annja thought. “How thoughtful, Lu. Thanks,” she said. Not that she minded; she preferred leading the way.

She stuffed the flashlight in her pack, camera into the plastic bag in a pocket, then took the lantern from him and stepped through the opening.

The air was close and musty and she picked up a trace of guano. Bats had been there, but not for quite some time or not in any great numbers.

She ran the fingers of her free hand along the wall as she walked. The stone was smooth and cool, and she would have allowed herself to linger and enjoy the sensation were she not in a hurry.

The ascent was so steep that at first she thought the corridor was an aven, a passage that rises toward the surface. But after fifty or so yards it took a steep downturn and a gentle crook to what she guessed was the east.

“Watch your step, Zakkarat.” The guide was right behind her. “The floor’s uneven, and there are some hollow spots.”

“I have not been here before,” he told her. “I would have remembered this. And all those coffins…I would have remembered them, too. I have not been in this particular cave. I took a wrong turn somewhere. Should have brought a map, I know. I should not have trusted my memory. So very sorry, miss. This is not Ping Yah.” He rattled off more words in Thai.

She realized he’d never said her name, nor had they ever been properly introduced. He probably never bothered to learn the names of tourists he guided—no practical reason for it, as there were so many and they were only briefly in his life.

“Annja,” she said. “My name is Annja Creed. And don’t be sorry, Zakkarat. The coffins are magnificent. In much better shape than the ones you showed us in Tham Lod. I hope we can find more.”

“I have never been this way, Annjacreed,” he said. He made a worried tsking sound, and she heard him tap his helmet. “Not that I remember, at least. I have gotten us horribly lost and—”

“I say again, I’m not worried,” Annja cut in. She truly meant it.

“Me, neither.” Luartaro said from behind them. “I consider this just a grand adventure, Zakkarat. Something to make my vacation more remarkable. We’ll find a way out of here. Lost is just a temporary condition.”

Despite her confidence, Annja’s stomach clenched several minutes later when the passage led down into a small chamber flooded with river water.

She couldn’t say why, but she instantly thought of Roux as she glanced at the surface of the water. It looked as black as oil, still and mysterious. Annja hadn’t seen Roux in quite some time, and she knew that he would admonish her when she met up with him again and told him about her Thailand excursion. And she would tell him all about it.

He’d say that she shouldn’t have ventured into active caves after there’d been so much rain and that she certainly shouldn’t have taken Zakkarat and Luartaro with her, risking their lives. That if she was going to investigate whatever it was that niggled at her brain, she should have done it on her own.

No doubt he’d also grill her about Luartaro, and perhaps scold her for being so impetuous and flying halfway around the world with a man she’d only known for a few days.

The “old man” as she thought of him sometimes took a great interest in her personal life, like a father might. But they were bound together by history and the sword, not by blood. Maybe Roux wouldn’t care about her relationship with Luartaro.

She shook her head to chase away the thoughts and tentatively waded forward into the water. It was cool, but not uncomfortably so. She was thankful it was summer, as at any other time of the year she would be shivering from being so wet and so far under the mountain.

The ground continued to slope down and soon the water was around her knees, and then her thighs.

She reached into her back pocket for her digital camera. Even though it was in plastic, she didn’t want to take a chance it would get ruined. She put it in her shirt pocket and moved ahead.

Behind her, Zakkarat chattered anxiously and softly in Thai—it had the phrasings and rhythms of a prayer.

“We’ll get out of here,” Luartaro reassured them. His voice didn’t carry quite the confidence it had held before. “We’ll find a way out of this. It won’t be too long.”