by Jay Noel
Zen felt a shimmer of pride.
“That is a great honor,” Zen said. “Please be sure to thank him for me.”
They arrived at the modest wooden hogan that once belonged to Enapay's uncle. Toksu initiated the goodbye by extending his large arm. Zen grasped it with tight fingers.
“Good journey, young one. Take care of Enapay, and I hope you fulfill your quest.” Toksu gave Zen's much smaller arm a slight shake. “I will see you again.”
“It has been an honor fighting alongside of you. I will remember the Nabeho always.”
Toksu released Zen's arm and turned towards the Spirit Hall where Chief Ohitekah and the Elders entertained the visiting Oraibi tribe. Zen watched the hulking Nabeho disappear around a corner. When Toksu was gone, Zen entered the small cabin to gather his things.
NEVA DESCENDED THE STONE STEPS and found herself in the underground bunker called The Pit. The damp cellar housed three tiny cells, each crammed with a surviving raider. They looked up at her when she entered, but they remained silent.
She was confident Geller had sold the Iberian contraband to Cheng, and therefore he must have stopped in the Oraibi town to deliver the weapons. Maybe one of the raiders would give her the information she needed to catch up to her son. She paced up and down the humid and narrow corridor, building the tension. Out of habit, she took hold of her right pistol and twirled it several times before holstering it. Finally, one of them spoke.
“The Commander greatly underestimated you.”
The raider might have been as towering as Toksu, but the man looked sickly and malnourished. His thinning white hair was greasy and fell straight down to his shoulders. The dirty beard failed to cover his hollow cheeks, and she recognized him at once. He had struck her with his whip and had stood guard outside her prison.
Neva kept her hand on her revolver. “Looks like your Commander did a whole lot of underestimating. Did you know that little boy from Nihon beheaded your leader? Isn't that a shame?”
It felt good to mock all of them. She wished she had been the one to cut the bastard's head off. “Funny how quickly the tables can turn. Two days ago I was the one in the cage, remember?”
“I expect you'll be off to go rescue your son?” the man asked, finally lifting his face up to look at her in the eyes. Neva shot him a fierce look, and she wondered if he was teasing her.
The raider pressed against the metal bars, his pitiful face a thin sheet of flesh pulled tight against a jagged skull. “I hope you find him.”
There was no trace of malice in his voice. Neva approached him. “What's your name?”
“Igor.” He tilted his head as if he was tipping an invisible hat, and his gaze drifted far off as if he was searching for something.
Neva stared straight into the filthy man's dark eyes. “Wouldn't you like to do something decent before you die? That way, you will know right up until the end that your last deed was an honorable one.”
Igor stood in silence, and she hoped he was considering her offer of redemption.
“I believe Geller sold you the Iberian weapons,” Neva pressed. “Where was he heading after his visit? Tell me what I need to know.”
“Yes, Geller did provide us with the weapons.” Igor's words spilled onto the dank floor without effort. “You missed him by only one day.”
Neva dared to step closer. “Did you see my son?”
“No. I never even saw Geller himself. The Commander dealt with a representative instead. Geller remained in one of the passenger cars, behind dark windows. I only saw his employees when we took possession of the weapons.”
“Do you know where they were going?” Neva took a step back.
“South.”
“South where? Mexihco?” That had been Neva's best guess all along. “Tell me.”
Igor kept his head up, his eyes shut in concentration. “I heard a couple of Geller's hired hands grumbling about having to cut through Mexihco on their way to Azincaya. They said something about a coastal city called Caru.”
This made sense. Mexihco was the doorstep to the world's darkest underworld, a haven for pirates and other criminals. But Azincaya was worse. If Agrios was called the Wild Land, its southern sister continent was the Dead Land.
“I'm sure of it. That's where they were going.” Igor let go of the bars and leaned back against the slimy wall of his cell.
Neva looked at him for several moments, satisfied that he had been truthful with her. “Thank you, Igor.”
She turned from him and began to go up the steps. Before opening the heavy wooden door, she bent low to see Igor weeping into his slender hands. “Now I will do you a favor,” Neva whispered.
Igor stood up and closed his eyes. He stretched out his arms, his palms facing her. He murmured something, a prayer perhaps. Neva slid her revolver from her belt and cocked the hammer back. She raised the gun and fired. Her bullet shot straight through his heart. Igor's eyes winced, and his lifeless body collapsed onto the grimy floor. The remaining raiders both gasped.
“One favor deserves another.” Neva exited The Pit and slammed the rusted door behind her.
THE LOCOMOBILE'S CABIN BECAME CRAMPED with the three of them inside, and Zen felt the heat coming from behind a steel hatch near his legs. Enapay had laid down straw mats to soften the floor. In the other corner lay several auto guns, which Neva detested, but she couldn't dismiss their usefulness.
Zen's rucksack was in the other car, along with crates of dried food and other supplies. Enapay decided to leave the small cargo car coupled so they could take turns sleeping in any one of the several sleeping cots inside as only one pilot needed to remain in the locomobile cockpit.
“Are we all ready to go?” Enapay got the vehicle's engine to idle.
Neva took the co-pilot seat and snatched up the map. “Yes. We will head east towards the Oraibi town, then south through Mexihco, and continue on to Azincaya.”
Zen bent over and glanced at Neva's map. He had read about Azincaya briefly during his studies with Master Kyta, but the land was an even bigger mystery than Agrios. It was an ancient continent, where its people long ago plundered their own land.
The amulet pulsated against his skin again. Zen felt his spirits rise with the affirmation that he was doing the right thing by joining Enapay and Neva. His eyes were heavy, and his body betrayed him by yawning.
Enapay turned to him from the pilot's chair. “Rest up, Zen. You deserve it. Neva will fetch you when it's your turn to pilot.”
With a nod, Zen went out the sliding door and walked along the narrow catwalk towards the rear of the locomobile. He hopped onto the coach car's steel platform and entered through a sliding door. He found his pack on the floor and dragged it to the back of the car.
Zen threw it onto a top bunk before crawling onto a bed below it. When he removed his belt and holsters, a sharp tug on his leg wound made him gasp. The bandage felt tight. When the pain subsided, he swung his legs onto the bunk.
He lay on his back. The engine roared from outside and the gush of steam filled the air. After several rough jerks, the locomobile was on its way. The gentle rocking reminded him of the rolling ocean, and he was soon swallowed by the eclipse of sleep.
Under the Atlantica Ocean...
“WE ARE FORTY-EIGHT HOURS FROM reaching the Azincayan Coast, Professor,” Shannon McMillan reported.
The old man the crew called “Professor” was at his desk in his private chamber, mulling over several maps and a stack of open books. McMillan didn't know her employer's true name when she accepted the job, and she never bothered asking.
“Slow her down to ten knots,” the Professor said without looking up. “Coming all the way to my chamber to tell me this is unnecessary. You could have told me through the talking horn.”
McMillan turned to the brass horn connected to a thin metal tube going into the wall and running the length of the underwater boat. “Actually, I did try. You did not pick up.”
The Professor looked up from his
books. His white bushy eyebrows twitched in bewilderment. He followed McMillan's gaze to the horn hanging on its brass bracket right next to him.
“I apologize, McMillan. I was preoccupied.” The old man went back to his reading. “Be on the lookout for pirates.”
McMillan nodded, but she secretly wished to engage with sea bandits so they could test the power of the boat she piloted. The waters off of the Azincayan Coast swarmed with unlawful raiders, notorious for attacking vessels venturing into their territory. The Azincayans were seafaring masters and easily defeated all trespassers. There lacked any semblance of central leadership in these parts, and each city along the coast took what it wanted from outsiders and each other.
The Professor had designed and built this submersible boat, the Triton. The craft contained no cannons or guns, yet the Triton was the deadliest sea craft in the entire world. Stealth was the boat's main defense, and the sharp ramming prow at the bow was a formidable weapon, able to pierce the strongest steel. McMillan was eager to test the Triton's capabilities on any enemy.
“Of course, Professor.” McMillan continued to stand at attention. “Is there anything you need, sir?'
The Professor opened his antique pocket watch. “It's supper time. Did you know that?”
“No sir.”
Having been underwater for five days straight, she didn't know day from night. Her concept of time became nearly non-existent since taking this job.
“Although my belly has been a little vocal in the last hour or so,” she added.
“Mine too.”
The crew of four, not including the Professor, worked in pairs. McMillan and her partner Simon were due to have their meal and leisure shift soon.
“I will join you for supper in fifteen minutes,” said the Professor, tucking his pocket watch into his vest.
“Very good, Professor.” McMillan did an about face. “I will see you in the galley shortly.”
She left the chamber and closed the steel port door behind her. The passageway was narrow, a tough fit even for McMillan's small build. She ducked her head beneath the network of riveted steel beams running along the low ceiling.
The Triton held many secrets. McMillan had no idea how the boat was powered. The craft had powerful screws propelling the craft through the waters, and she had seen the various ballast tanks allowing the Triton to submerge or rise to the surface. The cockpit's controls took more than thirty days to master, but she still didn't know what a few of the levers and buttons did.
The biggest mystery to her were the little glass spheres throughout the boat, illuminating every corridor and chamber. McMillan couldn't figure out their mechanics. They were warm to the touch, and if she stared at them long enough, she noticed they pulsated to the rhythm of the boat's engines. The engine room was directly behind the Professor's private chamber, and he didn't allow anyone else back there. Large vessels needed an entire squad of engineers to keep it running, but the fact that the Triton only needed two pilots made it the most advanced machine in the world.
McMillan reached the empty kitchen galley. She took one of the seats at the square table in the center and wondered where Simon was.
Simon was the Professor's countryman, and the two of them had met McMillan in Haven City in Agrios months ago. Simon was a lean, quiet, but thoughtful fellow. He and McMillan were paired up, therefore she spent most of her waking moments with him. She was the type to keep to herself, so there was little to no conversation when they piloted the Triton or ate together. Simon was an enigma. McMillan knew he hailed from Francia, was involved with their rebellion as a military surgeon, and traveled to Agrios with the Professor. She wondered if he and the Professor were kin.
Simon seemed to be privy to the old man's secrets, so she considered him to be second in command. That suited her fine, and even early on, she noticed how he carried an air of silent strength.
The Professor and Simon had hired the crew after a lengthy interview process and offered a hefty salary for their services. There was a handsome upfront fee, and the rest would be paid upon completion of their mission, whatever that was.
McMillan leaned back in her chair, but her drifting mind was interrupted by a ruckus echoing down the corridor. She was sure she heard the other two members of her crew, Orsini and Lopez, laughing in the direction of the cockpit.
She assumed Orsini and Lopez had relieved Simon at the controls. The two shared a loud and lively personality, a nice change of pace while being stuck underwater for days at a time.
McMillan was fortunate to be working with some good people, and this would be her final job. The Professor all but guaranteed they'd all make enough to give up their hard lives after completing this mission. From the way the old man doled out cash during their training, it left none of them with any doubt they would be wealthy at the completion of their yet unexplained mission.
The Professor didn't mince words when he gave McMillan the terms of her employment. The old man spoke of risk and extreme danger. Only a small amount of information would be disseminated to the crew as was necessary for them to carry out their duties. They were kept in the dark until it was absolutely necessary for them to learn bits here and there about their actual mission. Again, McMillan agreed to this, as long as she was getting paid.
Their job required specific training in the beginning, and mastering how to navigate and pilot the exotic boat took two months. Becoming accustomed to being submerged underwater for three to five days at a time wasn't easy either. When the Professor was satisfied with the crew's honed expertise, they received a more than generous paycheck as a reward.
Before setting off on their mission, the Professor had requested each of them to write down their next of kin and their addresses. He gave them each a signed contract that promised to personally deliver their pay to surviving family members, but McMillan was dumbfounded. She had no family or friends. She told the Professor she had no intention of meeting any such demise, and she would wager her salary on that.
The years had been hard on her, and she was ready to experience a little bit of the good life. Her brown hair sprouted wisps of gray. She longed to sail only for herself. Or perhaps take up piloting an air vessel and flying away. Somewhere quiet. Maybe somewhere tropical.
Life for an ex-soldier was a difficult one, but after this mission, it would be nothing but smooth sailing, or flying, thereafter. McMillan closed her eyes, immersed in her daydreams of the good life to come.
THE NIHON SUN BEGAN ITS ascent, lighting a clear blue sky and bringing a warm glow to the windows of the large chamber. Emperor Hideaki was elated. He had received the signed agreements from Chancellor Song of the Sui Faction only an hour ago. This official declaration made half of Xia a vassal state. Hideaki was confident the Jin Faction would soon follow, and all of Xia would be under Nihon rule.
Staring at the imposing hand painted map of the world on the wall behind his desk, Hideaki traced the borders of the Iberian Empire with his fingers. As he did so, his mind retraced Iberia's conquest of Europa country by country.
The latest reports confirmed an Iberian buildup along Xian's western border. Despite his plans progressing ahead of schedule, Hideaki wondered if all of their preparations would be in vain. He hoped to have everything in place before they invaded.
“It is official,” said Takeo as he skimmed the signed treaty Hideaki had left on the desk.
Hideaki jumped, startled by his shogun's voice. He hadn't noticed Takeo enter his private study. “Yes. The Eastern Sui has signed our agreement.”
Takeo said, “Do not worry, Emperor. With Sui support, we will have the manpower we need to fight Iberia. Western Xia is difficult terrain. Iberia will not rush to invade, and they will find the mountains difficult to navigate.”
Hideaki took his seat. He wished he carried his Shogun's confidence and composure. That is what he trusted most in Takeo. “I cannot ignore my instincts. I know Iberia will cross into Xia, and they will do it soon.”
“
I am going to the Koreyan peninsula today. I want to see the experiments for myself,” Takeo said. “This will be an unannounced visit so I can get a true assessment of our progress there.”
Hideaki nodded.
“Why not join me?” Takeo suggested. “With the Sui Faction's submission, a visit by their new ruler would be a great way to build morale and gain support from your subjects. You are popular in Koreya.”
“I think not.” Hideaki felt his neck muscles tense.
Takeo bowed. “I will confirm the progress in Koreya is on schedule, my Emperor.”
The Shogun hurried out of the study.
Hideaki had no desire to witness the gruesome experiments being carried out on the peninsula. The work being done there was a means to an end, and if Iberia did dare to set foot on Xian soil, Hideaki would make sure to unleash death upon the invaders.
THE NIHONESE STEAM GALLEON WAS two days from reaching Azincayan territory. Kai stood at the bow of the ship, and he inhaled the salty ocean air. Although he had never traveled to this part of the world before, he was aware of the dangers lurking in these waters. Pirates were like sharks circling their prey along the Azincayan coast.
Kai kept his left eye searching the tumbling ocean through his brass spyglass. Emperor Hideaki had hired him to do a strange job. It was a unique mission for a Shadow. Kai was accustomed to working in the dark, completing only clandestine tasks. His new directive brought him out in the open, and it required skills he had never employed before. Kai was to act the part of a diplomat of Nihon and purchase a child from the lowlife merchant Olaf Geller.
Down on the bottom deck of the ship, several crates of gold were stored in a locked room. It was more gold than Kai could count. The mission would go two ways. If Geller were to accept the gold for the child, Kai would simply hand over the crates in exchange for the boy. If not, he was to take the boy by force. Secretly, he hoped Geller would refuse the gold. That would give Kai a reason to slit the merchant's throat and take the child. Kai was a killer, not a negotiator.