by Jay Noel
Forty days ago...
PIERCE BREACHED PROPER ETIQUETTE, DISCUSSING private personal matters during a business meeting. Geller sat in Pierce's study and glanced at the painted family portrait hanging over the fireplace. Marcel wore the face of a complacent and soft-spoken child. Harmless.
“He looks innocent. Your wife is absolutely stunning,” Geller said.
“Sure,” responded Pierce with a wave of his hand. “Marcel is well behaved. My wife, though difficult to tame at first, has finally learned her place and is obedient without question.”
Geller took a sip of his whiskey. “Sounds like everything is perfect. What is the problem?” He was growing bored, but abruptly walking out would be counterproductive.
“I need an heir,” Pierce muttered. “It has been almost two years, and Neva has failed to give me a son. My surgeon is at a loss, she is perfectly healthy. There's a part of me that believes her body refuses to carry my child.”
Geller wondered if the man was insane or just stupid. “You have adopted her son as your own. There's your heir.”
Pierce stood up and began to pace. “He's not mine, not really. It's not the same. Besides, the boy is strange. Marcel would rather read than play. He only speaks to his mother, the rest of the time he's mute. Hardly worthy of running my company. And divorce is forbidden under Iberian law.”
Geller looked at a framed photograph of the boy on Pierce's desk. Marcel looked to be eight or nine years old, his body long sticks glued together. “I see your point.”
Pierce was coming to a slow simmering anger. “I can't even stand looking at the boy. Fathered by an idiot inventor who couldn't make a dime to save his life.”
Geller's curiosity piqued. “Who, may I ask, is the boy's father? I have a keen interest in keeping up with the invention industry.”
Pierce stopped his pacing. “His name was Bouvier. The child is named after his father.”
Geller nearly choked on his own tongue. It took him a few moments to collect himself. Pierce was absolutely ignorant, and Geller worked to control his excitement.
“I know this man,” said Geller nonchalantly. “He was a tinkerer of some sort, I believe. A failed hack that decided to try his hand in growing animal feed.”
That was a lie, but Pierce was as observant as a scarecrow. Geller's mind was awash with new ideas, the kind that lined his pockets richly.
“Do you have any idea why Bouvier abandoned his work and became a farmer before he died?” Geller asked. “Such a mystery. Who knows what astounding inventions died with him?” He bit his lower lip, wondering if he'd said too much.
Pierce shrugged. “Neva never speaks of him.”
“May I offer a suggestion?” Geller asked him.
Pierce took a deep breath. “Yes. Please do.”
“Let me take the boy.”
Pierce stepped away as if he had been struck. “I'm sorry?”
“Let me take the boy off of your hands. Problem solved.” Geller stood up and joined Pierce in his pacing. “Figure out a way for the two of you to be alone, far from your estate. A father and son hunting trip. Child abductions have been known to occur out in the wild.”
“I don't know.” Pierce shook his head. “Marcel and his mother are close. She would go mad. Her time on the battlefield has made her a little unstable. Neva was an officer in the Francian Rebellion. Did I ever tell you that?”
Geller smiled. Pierce was negotiating. “No, I did not know that about your wife.” He turned again to the family portrait. Neva looked every bit a woman. Her hair was auburn, her face immaculate. “She's the most beautiful soldier I have ever seen.”
“If she were to lose her beloved son, who knows what would become of her.” A crease formed between Pierce's brows.
“That would be a tragedy. She might do something...irrational.” Geller put his glass down.
“The boy is bookish, but he's well behaved. He's not a nuisance.” Pierce sat back down behind his desk. Still negotiating. “Still, I would consider it if the offer was worthwhile. On my end, I would be losing a potential heir. I would have to deal with my wife, who might be driven to suicide, as you yourself suggest.”
“Suicide? I never said suicide.” Geller was playing with him.
Pierce swallowed. “I told you she was already emotionally fragile. If her son was abducted, she would do something drastic. Suicide is very drastic.”
“The most drastic there is.”
“I don't know,” Pierce said.
“Consider my offer.” Geller would not be baited. “I would take him to Agrios. Maybe sell him to a factory, an engineer, or inventor's workshop. The boy is clearly intelligent. His literacy will be a premium in the Wild Land. Hell, you will be doing the boy a favor.”
Pierce's eyes shifted back and forth. “I wouldn't want him to be laboring in the fields or a grungy factory. No one would want the scrawny mouse for that kind of work anyway.”
The seed was planted.
“I will be crossing the Channel tonight, staying in a small town on the Albion Isle,” Geller said. “I plan on procuring additional cargo and securing my passage to Agrios from there. You have ten days. I shall dispatch my couriers shortly with the details of my offer.”
Pierce stood and started pacing again.
Geller offered his hand. “We can correspond on the matter until we come to a mutually beneficial agreement. Agreed?”
Pierce took his hand, and a sly grin cracked on his face.
GELLER WORKED BEHIND HIS MAKESHIFT desk in his spacious car hitched to the lead locomobile. He paused to stare at Marcel. Two hundred thousand ibers was such a small price to pay for such a child. He had watched the boy devour volumes of books that even the most educated scholars would struggle with.
A knock at the car door brought Geller out of his daydreaming. One of his bodyguards entered, steadying himself as he hopped into the moving car and shut the door behind him. The man was a brutal mercenary. Even his name was brutal: Kamau. Geller made sure all of his employees were properly dressed. The fine long gray coat, ruffled business shirt, and black slacks neatly tucked in his shiny boots made the man look more like a gentleman than a trained killer.
Kamau was of average height, slightly taller than Geller, and his body was like chiseled black granite. The man looked terrifying, even dressed in finery, but that was exactly why Geller hired him.
“Sir, we are nearing the Mexihcan border.” Kamau's dark skin glistened with sweat in the desert heat. “We are making excellent time.”
Geller leafed through his paperwork, searching for a map. “How far can we travel until we need to stop for fuel and supplies?”
Kamau crossed his muscular arms in thought. “We have enough fuel to get us to the southern tip of Mexihco. That's about forty hours, nonstop, at full speed.”
“Let's stop once we reach Mexihco City. We can resupply there for the voyage south. I have a contact I need to meet with anyway.” Geller turned to Marcel who was lost in a book about clockworks. “We can stretch our legs then.”
Kamau bowed. “Very good sir.”
Geller stared at Kamau's dark wet face. “Please change into more comfortable clothing. In fact, tell all the men to change. The heat is merciless down here.”
With an obedient nod, Kamau left through the door again. Geller looked out the window and stared at the sandy void. The landscape was empty except for those awful prickly plants on the side of the desolate highway. He allowed his mind to drift again, dreaming of life on his own paradise island in faraway Oceania.
“All thanks to you, Marcel,” Geller said out loud.
Marcel did not look up.
Geller rested his chin in his hand. “All thanks to you.”
ZEN SPENT MOST OF THE next day in the closest thing the Nabeho had to a hospital. While the village only had two healers, and there were three citizens with extensive outside surgical training, together they effectively combined ancient techniques with modern methods to help heal the wo
unded.
After one of them stitched the gash on Zen's right leg, they applied a poultice of crushed petals from a yellow plant as an antiseptic. A nurse bandaged it tightly and warned him to not do anything strenuous the next couple of days.
As Zen lay on a small cot made of wood and canvas, Neva made short but frequent visits and kept him updated with all of the happenings around the village. Several crews had moved the fallen raiders to a mass grave outside of the walls. She guessed there were over two hundred dead.
Neva's wounds were trivial, and she assisted the surgeons in tending to the wounded. Zen could feel the tension grow within Neva with every passing hour, but he suspected the soldier in her wouldn't let her leave as long as the tribe could use her help. One moment it would look as if she were going to depart for good, but then someone would ask for her assistance. She couldn't say no.
Zen learned that a handful of injured raiders were captured and put in the underground jail known as The Pit, which was located directly below the citadel. The Nabeho had lost twenty-two men and women in the defense of their village, and Chief Ohitekah estimated it would take at least thirty days to repair their wall and heavy iron gates.
Enapay was nowhere to be seen, but Neva assured Zen that the pilot's wounds were superficial. After a healer tended to him, Enapay became engrossed with hauling his airship back to the fortress. From what Neva said, it sounded like the Dragonfly was completely beyond repair.
Neva was sure Enapay felt personally responsible for Lena and Ahak's deaths. Ahak's body had been recovered. He had fallen out of the airship after the raiders assaulted the Dragonfly with their auto guns. Enapay blamed himself, and Neva said it was best to leave him for now.
In the afternoon, the tribe held a ceremony for their dead outside the Spirit Hall. Zen felt well enough to accompany Neva as guests to their most sacred ritual. The twenty-two bodies were carried out and lifted onto an elevated platform. Nearly all the attendees wept. The cries were replaced with their shaman who lead them into singing their ancient chants.
Toksu looked especially devastated, and he remained clustered around his immediate family members throughout the ceremony. Neva informed Zen that Lena, who was shot by the raiders, was Toksu's niece.
Later, Itan pulled Zen aside to speak with him in private. During the battle, he had witnessed Zen's fight with Cheng. Itan praised him for his spirit and his courage, and that he and Chief Ohitekah truly believed that fate had brought Zen to their village to help save the Nabeho.
Zen felt honored, yet depressed. His family sword was sure to have been destroyed by Cheng's locomobile. His lost heirloom reminded him of his original quest, and he hoped to receive a sign as to what he should do next.
Neva joined him in silence, wandering towards the damaged eastern gates of the fortress. That's where they found Enapay. The pilot stood motionless with his hands on his hips, tugging at the goggles around his neck. What remained of the airship lay in a mutilated heap at his feet.
Zen noticed his amulet's hot pulse when he approached and stood next to the wreckage. Was this the sign he was looking for? He wondered what it meant, but he decided to put it out of his mind for the time being.
“Sorry about your airship.” Neva patted Enapay's back.
Without looking up, Enapay replied with a low grunt.
She stared at the wrecked airship in silence for a long time before saying, “You know, I was going to ask you for your help in tracking my son. I thought I could make up for lost time if I took to the air. So much for that.”
Enapay finally turned to her. “Thank you for saving my life. Those raiders were going to fill me up with lead.” He managed a weak smile. “I would have helped you find your son.”
Zen said, “Iberian machine guns. Iberian cannons. How did Cheng get his hands on these arms?”
“Lots of smuggling going on in the East,” Enapay replied. “People steal from each other, and it's not uncommon for highly sought-after contraband to change hands several times. These days, you'd better have a small brigade to protect you if you're going to be lugging artillery and auto guns all over Agrios.”
Neva kicked dirt. “Geller had to be their source. He has his own private army and the resources to smuggle these kinds of weapons. He must have met with Cheng to complete the sale just before they captured me.”
Enapay climbed into the demolished hull of the Dragonfly. He examined the boiler and components attached to it. “I think I can salvage some of this. I have the necessary tools, but not the proper replacement parts needed to put her back together.” He gave Neva an apologetic look. “I'm sorry.”
“Those steam locomobile the raiders left, are those of Iberian origin as well?” Zen asked.
“I think so,” Neva replied.
Enapay raised both arms in exultation, nearly doing a clumsy dance until he winced from his wounds. “Zen, I know exactly what you're thinking. Those locomobiles run on carbsidian, exactly like the Dragonfly.”
Neva looked lost. “Carbsidian?”
Zen remembered the carbsidian rocks the Dragonfly burned for power. “It is a fuel source. A modified coal,” he said to her.
Seeing Neva's failure to understand, Enapay explained, “The Iberians have been infusing standard coal with another type of ore for a couple of years now. It allows their vehicles to have increased power and sufficiency. I flew all over Agrios for four full seasons, and used maybe only a quarter of all the carbsidian I stored in a small chest.”
Neva's eyes grew. “So I'll be able to travel faster without needing to stop for refueling as often. I might be able to catch up to Geller and my son in one of those locomobiles.”
Enapay's grin returned. “We just might.”
“We?” Neva looked surprised and relieved. “You will help me?”
The amulet was fiercely radiating now, almost burning Zen's chest.
Enapay bent his lanky body to look her in the eyes. “Like I said, I owe you my life. I might not have the Dragonfly, but the least I can do is help you get your son back.”
Neva's tears rolled down her cheek. “You too?” she asked, putting an arm around Zen.
The hot stone power penetrated his flesh, demanding his acknowledgment. Ever since he had met Neva, he knew their destinies were somehow intertwined. At first, he thought maybe it was because she was a mother, desperate to rescue her son. In many ways, she reminded him of his own mother, but now he was sure of one thing, he was meant to go with Neva on her quest.
“I was going to ask you first, Zen,” said Enapay. “I didn't want to speak for you.”
“I could use your help.” Neva's arm tightened around his shoulders.
Zen clutched at his radiant amulet, which the other two finally noticed. “When do we leave?”
IT WAS EVENING, ONLY A whisper of sunlight traced the far end of the horizon. Zen was alone on the Nabeho wall open parapet, and he watched the transition from day into night. Waiting meant more scattered thinking. Before he got too homesick, the sound of muffled voices kept him from wallowing in his depression.
Down below, Zen watched a long line of natives enter what was once the east gate. The visitors walked through the twisted metal slowly and greeted the Nabeho when they entered. This tribe looked similar to the Nabeho. Their skin was bronze, their clothing the color of earth. The men wore their dark hair long and wild. They represented the Oraibi Tribe who had come to express their gratitude to the Nabeho. Zen watched the Oraibi contingents gather in the open courtyard. Itan brought them to the deep trench Zen had suggested they dig, which proved to be an effective defense against the raiders who breached their damaged wall. It sounded like Itan was retelling the battle against Cheng's army, and the Oraibi applauded at the end.
Zen noticed the large group was led by Chief Ohitekah who steered them towards the center of the city, in the direction of the Spirit Hall. Below, his eyes caught someone stirring, waving long arms trying to get his attention. It was dark, but when the figure lifted a lantern
, Zen saw Toksu motioning for him to come down from the wall.
Zen walked down the stone steps and noticed Toksu concealing something behind his back. Although it had been a difficult day of mourning for the giant, the warrior wore a gentle grin on his face.
“I have something of yours,” Toksu said, his smile growing. The giant brought his arm around, and his bear claw of a hand revealed his gift. It was his pistols, both in their holsters attached to the belt.
Zen took them, and after a quick examination, he concluded they were in perfect condition. After closing the cylinder of one of his guns, Zen exhaled with relief. These were not the irreplaceable relic his family sword had been, but to feel their familiar steely weight in both of his hands felt comforting. His fingers tightened around the leather wrapped grips as if he were embracing long lost brothers.
“Thank you, Toksu.” Zen wrapped the belt around his waist and fastened the silver buckle. “I was not sure I would see these again.”
“The Oraibi found it in their temple. They're most grateful for your victory over Cheng.” Toksu's grin faded. “I hoped that we'd find your sword too, but we didn't.”
Zen's heart beat wildly against his chest. All hope disappeared. “It is my fault. I should never have brought it to Agrios. The important thing is that your village is safe.”
Toksu sighed. “You and Enapay are leaving with Neva tonight?”
“Yes. He is finishing the necessary modifications to one of the transports the raiders had left behind.”
Zen began walking, and Toksu followed at his side.
“You know,” Toksu began, “with your long black hair freed from its knot, you might pass as a Nabeho brave.”
Zen chuckled.
“Chief Ohitekah is going to display his spear you had used to defeat Cheng,” Toksu said, keeping pace with Zen's slow steps. “He will hang it from a wall in the War Room. He said our people will look upon the spear and know the story of Zenjiro, the Warrior of Nihon who came to help defend the Nabeho.”