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maximum-construct - The Ladder — Description

Contrary to what Arsenio had feared, Jamal and Ezee hadn't been killed. The Arab had fought through many soldiers, slaying and wounding plenty. And though he was bleeding from many wounds, He'd somehow reached his goal. His bloodstained axe had crashed down upon the head of the emperor, and Goodwin had ceased to be the ruler of this insane place. Which was, during the weeks to come, going to be even more insane. Jamal had made no attempt to kill Ezee though. That Jamal was knocked out just after smashing the King’s skull in, may been the only reason he did not slay her.

Under the law of the Alitma Kingdom, Jamal should have been kept alive to be tortured for days until his body could take it no longer. But the woman who seized power had another idea. Hoferana was the general of a regiment but she wasn't next in line for the throne. But she immediately launched her soldiers against Goodwin’s, killed them, and declared herself the new Empress. Her assassins murdered the other generals and, after some fighting, the survivors of the regiments surrendered to the new Empress. So much for the tradition of an orderly succession.

Though Hoferana publicly denounced Jamal, she must've been secretly grateful to him. She'd sentenced him to the Leap of Death, but that gave him a thin chance to win his freedom and exile from the kingdom.

Meanwhile, Ezee, had had no part in slaying Goodwin, yet they were judged guilty by association with the Arab. Actually, the new Empress was just ridding herself of all those whom she considered dangerous to her. She rounded up a score of high-placed people from all over the place and sent them out onto the gangplank. This pleased the people, though some were disappointed because not all of the sentences failed.

After that, Hoferana sought out others whom she suspected might want to take the throne away from her. They, along with criminals, were forced to make the heap. The mob loved the spectacles. After these warm-ups, the main event came. Jamal and his companions now had their opportunity to thrill the populace. Not to mention themselves.

Two weeks after Goodwin’s death, Jamal and his fellow prisoners were taken to the tower at high noon. They had been held in a stockade, thus they'd had the space in which to exercise vigorously. Also, they had practiced long jumping on the runway and the sand pit provided for those who lead to make the Leap of Death. The Empress wanted his gamesters to come as near as they could to the receiving gangplank before falling. The people loved a good show, and the Empress loved what the people loved. She sat on a chair on the platform from which projected the so-called 'freedom' plank.

The drums beat and the unicorn-fish horns were blown. The crowd below cheered at the announcement of the first jump.

Carmen and Arsenio had, after escaping their pursuers earlier, hid among the crowds of the town Alitma, plotting for another way out, which had proven harder than they'd first thought, as all the exits were guarded. Alitma was more or less hermetically sealed off from the rest of the world. So all they could do was to wait and see what would happen to Jamal and Esee.

And Jamal was standing out on the gangplank, wondering how Arsenio the Brighteyed had managed. And where he was now, the bastard. Probably out of town, and he didn't know if he resented him or admired him for that.

"Remember, our friend," Ezee said from behind. "The degree of force of gravity depends upon the attitude of the one defying it. If there were such a thing as good luck, we would ask that it be given to you."
"Good luck to you, too," Jamal said. He sounded very nervous, even to himself.

Arsenio had talked about rapture. What was that really? Would he feel it too – the last moments before death or liberty?

The captain of the royal guards shouted that he would now start the count. Before the two minutes were up, Jamal had sped down the thirty-foot-long plank, brought his right foot down hard on its end, and soared up. That was when the rapture seized him. Afterward, he believed it was the only thing that bore him to safety.

Nevertheless, he fell hard forward as his feet, just behind the toes, were caught by the end of the plank. His chest and face slammed into the hard yew wood near the edge of it. His hands gripped the sides of it, though he was in no danger of falling off. And he lay for some time before getting up. Cheers, jeers, and boos rose from the mob on the ground. He paid no attention to them as he limped along the plank to the platform and was taken to one side by guards. His heart beat fast, and he didn't quit trembling for a long time. By then, Ezee was running down the gangplank, her face set with determination.

She too soared, though Jamal doubted she was caught in the ecstasy he'd felt. Moments later, she landed with no inch to spare but managed to make herself fall forward. If she'd gone backward and thus sat on the air, she would've fallen.

Ezee was grinning as she walked to Jamal’s side. "We are such splendid athletes!" she cried.
"Sure we are," the Arab bellowed back. "We will be heroes, if just for one night."

The drums beat, and the horn blew for the third time. Mardja, Goodwin's queen, was now sprinting along the gangplank. Bent forward, her arms and long slim legs pumping, she sprung over the void without hesitation.
"What courage! What audacity!" Ezee cried.

But her bravery and strength were not enough to propel her to a good landing. The end of the plank struck her in her midriff and her elbows slammed onto the wood. Her breath whooshed out. For a moment, she hung there, legs kicking over the emptiness. Her efforts to catch her breath were agonizing to see. Then she stretched out her arms, moving her hands along the edge of the plank. Her face was against the wood. She began to slip backward as her grip weakened.

Jamal bellowed, his voice riding aver the clamor of the mob and the cries of the people on the platforms.
"You are an amazon, Mardja! Fight! Hang on! You can do it! Pull yourself up and forward! I will meet you at the platform." That surprised Ezee. What had gotten into the man, why was he caring for the former queen?

Mardja grinned then, though whether it was with despair or pain or with joy at Jamal’s encouragements was a question. Sweating, her face even whiter, struggling hard, she pulled herself forward until her legs were no longer dangling. Then she rolled over and lay flat on her back while her chest rose and fell quickly. Two minutes later, she got on all fours and crawled several feet. Then she rose and walked unsteadily but proudly to the platform.

Jamal embraced her, while Ezee looked on with a confused face. Mardja wept for a moment. But they separated to watch again as the drums rattled and the horns blared.

A huge man, his bronze-red hair shining in the sun, stepped onto the gangplank. As the other jumpers had done, he had been bending and flexing and leaping up and down in a warm-up. Now he crouched, his lips moving counting the seconds along with the captain of the guards. Then he came up out of his crouch and ran, his massive legs pumping. The plank bent down under his weight, and it quivered from the pounding. His left foot came down just a few inches from the end. He was up, legs kicking.

Down he came, a foot short of the end of the victory plank. His hands shot out and gripped the sides of the wood near the end. The plank bent, sprang up a little, and sank down again. It cracked loudly.

The large man was already swinging himself backward to get momentum for a forward swing so he could get his leg up on the plank. Just as he did come forward, a sharp snapping noise announced that the wood had broken. Ezee shrieked. Jamal gasped. Mardja tittered.

Jamal leaned far out. There, thirty feet below him, the big man was hanging by his hands from a slanting beam. His tower ward swing had carried him far enough to grab one of the horizontal beams projecting beyond the main structure. Hanging from the beam with only his hands, he'd managed to work closer to the building. But he must have slipped, and fallen. But again, he'd saved himself by clutching a cross beam slanting at a forty-five-degree angle in the exterior of the city structure. His body must have slammed hard against it, and his hands were slipping down along the slanting wood, leaving a trail of smeared blood.

When they were stopped where another angled beam met the one he was clinging to, he strove to pull himself up. And he succeeded. After that, he had to climb back up until he got to the platform on the far end. If he didn't manage that, he wouldn't be freed.

By then, Hoferana had her his throne to look over the platform and down at the big man. She smirked as she saw him slowly but surely making his way up the outside of the structure. But even Hoferana had to obey the rules of the ordeal. No one was allowed to interfere with the man. It was up to him to get to the platform or to fail. To fall. Ten minutes or so passed. And the bronze-red hair of the big man appeared and then his grinning face. After he hauled himself over the railing, he lay for a while to regain his strength.

When he arose, he spoke to Hoferana, glancing around at the other tree. "Surely, the gods favor us four. They have destined us for greater things than being your slaves."
"I wouldn't think so," the Queen said. "You will be freed, as the gods decree. Bur you will not go far. The savages just north of our state will seize you, and you will no longer be free." Then she laughed out low, a crazed cackling.

For a moment, it looked as if Jamal were going to hurl himself at the Empress. But the spears of the imperial guard were ready for him. He relaxed, smiled and lifted his hands. "We’ll see about that."

Jamal felt drained. The ordeal had been terrible enough. Now, after having survived it, they might fall into the hands of evil again. Here at least they had plenty of food. But just beyond the upper boundary of Alitma, the land was occupied by people it was best to avoid. They gave their slaves just enough food to keep them working - they enjoyed crucifying slaves and tying them up in agonizing positions for a long time - they relished in eating them. If someone was their captive and were suddenly given much food, they knew that they were being fattened to be the main course. Jamal thought he'd been better off if he'd fallen to his death.

The Arab was still downcast when the boat carrying them brought them within sight of what the Alitmans called the Land of the Beasts. The two crewmen were starting to haul down the lateen sail. He was sitting with the two dozen of other captives in the middle of the vessel, together with Ezee, Mardja and the big man who'd introduced himself as Nimdbo. Their hands were bound before them with thin cords of fish-gut. On both sides of them stood guards with spears.

"Within minutes, you will all be free," The captain of the guards said. Then, He laughed.

Apparently, the Empress had sent word to the Beasts that they'd soon have new slaves as a gift. A group of dark-skinned people stood at a docking pier on the right bank. They waved flint-tipped spears and big clubs while they danced wildly, the sun flashing on their light-gray, fish-scale helmets. Seeing them made Jamal swear and feel sick in his stomach. But, so far, they hadn't put out on boats to meet them.

Mardja, sitting close to him, spoke softly. "We are four and twenty. The guards are ten. The three sailors are not worth considering. The odds favor us."
"Shut up," Jamal snarled. He had no interest in listen to an old queen, even if he'd been the one to cheer her on earlier. That had been done mostly to annoy Hoferana. Now, he just wanted to get rid of the woman who'd clung to him since they'd been standing together on the platform.

"The odds favor us!" Mardja insisted.

Jamal gritted her teeth as he bent over and strained to separate the cord securing his hands together. His face got red - his muscles became snakes under the skin. The guards jeered at his efforts. Then their mouths dropped open as one of the sailors rose and lifted an oar, hitting one of the guards right in the back of his head. He fell over board and the oar swung again, in the other direction, hitting the second guard right in the face. That one fell down in the boat instead, but that was none the better as he was met by a hand holding a knife, slicing his larynx.

That had been Arsenio and Carmen, appearing like gods out of a machine.

Energized by what he had seen, Jamal pulled again, and as the cord snapped, and he shot up, roaring, his right fist swinging out. The hard lower edge caught the remaining guard under his chin. Jamal grabbed the man’s falling spear with his other hand and drove it into his belly.

The Alitmans had expected no resistance. If they did get it, they were certain that the handicapped slaves would be easily subdued. But Arsenio had removed two guards from the fight seconds after it had started.

It was all over within five seconds. The remaining sailor leaped into the water. Jamal ran toward the steersman, who too jumped overboard. Following the Arab’s bellowed commands, Arsenio, Nimdbo and Ezee hoisted the sail. Carmen kept on slashing up the other former prisoner's tied up hands. A great shout went up from the savages on land, as they saw their gift disappear, and they immediately manned boats. Drums sounded, apparently signaling those farther up the Path to intercept the slaves’ boat.

They came close to doing it. But Jamal, a consummate sailor, evaded them and then left them behind. They sailed northward, free for the time being.

The End