by D L Frizzell
He found Redland staring at two dark outlines in the sand a kilometer from the city wall.
"Well, damn," Redland laughed when he saw Alex. "You look pretty!"
Alex pulled his horse to a stop and got down, his new boots squeaking in the stirrups.
"Are you trying to get into a parade?" Redland mocked. "I told you to get a horse, not a showpiece."
"They said it was the best," Alex replied, feeling a bit defensive.
"You need a big horse for ridin' the territory, son. Look at Jaeger - big. Anyway, you're kinda scrawny, so maybe it'll hold up." Redland looked over the rest of Alex's rig. "What the hell kind of sword is that?"
"They called it a falcata."
"Never heard of it," Redland said. "It almost looks like a parlo blade. Did you feel it out first, or just buy what the salesman told you to?"
"I swung it a few times," Alex said. "It felt good."
"Have any of that money left?"
"A few slims," Alex answered.
Redland sighed. "Alright, you made your choice. You'll grow into it, I suppose. Come over here, I want you to see this."
They were Jugs, each with their throats slit, judging by the amount of blood encrusted around their collars. Next to their shallow grave was a familiar blanket with metal barbs along the edges. The heat of the sand had already dried out the corpses, but the stench of death and cave-bat musk remained. Redland poked at the bodies with a large branch he’d liberated from a pile of refuse near the city gate.
“Might as well help me now that you’re here,” Redland said, kneeling down and seizing one of the jugs’ shirts. “You grab that one.”
“Uh, okay,” Alex walked slowly toward the grave, not feeling okay at all. He waved some flies away as he stepped up to the corpse.
“We need to search the bodies, Alex,” Redland said. “Just shake ‘em off like this.” He pulled up on the first one’s shirt. Rigor mortis had set in and the corpse seemed wooden. The head wobbled stiffly as Redland shook the sand loose. “Go ahead and take care of that one.”
Alex knelt down and covered his nose with one hand as he touched the body in front of him. Thankfully its eyes and mouth were closed, and the sand caked on its face made it look more like a sculpture than a man. With a deep breath, he took the vest in both hands and pulled upward. The head was anchored firmly in the sand, and hardly budged when he pulled on it.
"I didn't think you were that weak," Redland goaded him. "Better try again, and this time put those shiny boots to work. Plant your foot in his crotch to get some leverage."
"Uh huh," Alex replied. He put his weight on the corpse’s hip instead, got a two-fisted grip on its vest, and yanked with all his might. The compacted sand around the head was stronger than the tissue holding its neck together. With a wet snap, the cartilage and remaining muscle in its neck separated and the head folded over backwards. As there was nothing else holding the body down, it sprang up to a sitting position. Alex lost his grip and fell backwards.
The compression of air pockets in the corpse's waist drove some residual fluids upward into its freshly opened neck. As blood and other liquids bubbled out of its esophagus, Alex saw the Jug's head dangling from the skin at the back of its neck.
Redland watched with amusement as Alex turn pale. "You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Alex replied. “At least I didn’t get any on me. Do we have to…” he stopped when the corpse seemed to move. “Something's on the body."
Dozens of bugs emerged from the folds in the corpse's clothes. Black spiders with twelve legs and silver dots for eyes swarmed on the torn neck tissues and attacked the bubbling fluids.
“There’s no way I’m touching that again, marshal,” Alex told Redland.
“That’s just as well,” Redland answered. “They’re extremely poisonous. Did you get bit?”
“I don’t think so,” Alex said, looking at his hands. “I let go pretty fast when his head came loose.” Alex felt a smear of blood on his face and wiped it on his sleeve while trying not to look disgusted.
Redland crossed the sand to Alex. He took his new deputy’s face in both hands and turned it both ways, looking around his eyes and ears. “No signs of venom."
"Well, that's good," Alex said, relieved.
“Dammit, boy!” Redland paced back and forth. “That’s a hell of a way to ruin my afternoon.”
“How was I supposed know there were spiders?” Alex asked.
“You wouldn’t know,” Redland said, shaking his head. “Those spiders aren’t from around here. The bodies were booby trapped.”
“But you didn’t have any spiders on yours,” Alex said, pointing to the body Redland had pulled up.
Redland stared at the body he uncovered. “I didn’t open mine up to expose the gooey filling, either,” he said. “They’re attracted to liquids - blood, sweat, etcetera. You really rang the dinner bell for 'em when you broke off that fella’s head. Come to think of it,” he added. “It was really easy to find these guys, like they were left for us.”
“They are Jugs, then,” Alex said.
Redland looked over the bodies. "These are the ones that broke into Norio’s home. That Jovian must have killed ‘em when he saw what they got themselves into. Easier to bury 'em than clean 'em up.” Redland pushed the headless corpse backwards with his branch. The body fell over but didn’t go all the way back down into its grave. He leaned over and saw that its head was still folded backwards against its spine. He wrangled the head into a more natural position on the neck with the branch, then kicked the corpse back into the hole the way he found it. After replacing the blanket over the bodies, he kicked sand over it to keep it from blowing away.
“Be sure to tell Seneca to send someone out here to burn these," Redland said, pushing the branch into the stand as a marker. “In the meantime,” he climbed on Jaeger, “I’ve got somewhere else I’m needed. It'll be a while before you see me again, Deputy. Keep track of everything that happens. I'll expect a detailed report.” With that, he galloped away.
Alex watched the marshal disappear across the dunes, then looked back at the bodies. Not having seen a grave like this before, he couldn’t tell for sure. Something was amiss. A sudden chill went up his spine. He scanned the horizon as if the answer were somewhere beyond his sight. There was only sand. Feeling the same sense of vulnerability that he had at Norio's house, he hurried back to the city.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Daigre placed his blanket on the ground and waited for his Jug underlings to finish eating their lizards. They would need their strength for the coming days, and he could not guarantee regular meals with the plainsmen hunting them. He took a bite from a potato as he considered his next move and knelt on the blanket. He laid his walking stick across his lap and rubbed the clasp with his thumb.
Despite the setbacks, the mission could be called a success. The scroll indicated that Norio was still an active agent, though now he worked for the plainsmen. Daigre thought about the empty sack he carried in his horse’s saddlebag. He would find Norio and put his hands in it as a tribute to The Guile. Benac had gotten himself burned alive, which could be construed as a success in more than one way. First, it was proof that The Guile's fears were justified - the plainsmen had discovered electronic weapons. Second, it was enough for Daigre that Benac was simply dead.
Daigre had initially thought The Guile forged an alliance with the Jugs by telling them about the threat of electronic weapons but came to find out that Benac's electrocution was the first time they'd imagined such a possibility. It made him wonder what The Guile had used to persuade them.
As he ate, Daigre’s thoughts dwelled on the concept of electronic weapons. It was true, technology had been robbed from mankind after landing on Arion. Whereas the Jugs gave into their savage nature and became the lowest sort of unschooled pillagers, the plainsmen became embittered by fate and refused to accept the inevitable. After hundreds of years of trying to regain their technological prowess, they
failed to return to space. It drove them mad. Enslaved by their lust for technology, the plainsmen and their allies perverted their renowned inventiveness into a sickening rage to punish those who did not join in their crusade for universal power. The results were, he shuddered, something he wished he had never been made privy to.
Only the Jovians held to the middle ground where sanity reigned. They had accepted that Arion would be their eternal home, and that rediscovering technology was an elusive dream suitable only for madmen. Through the guidance of The Sophics, and now The Guile, they had found what could be maintained. They returned to the ancient ways of pre-industrial Earth, clinging to the honorable tenets of their distant ancestors. They learned to live with what they had, while keeping simple mechanisms like the sextant, along with the bow and arrow.
But now, just like the apostate Jugs, they would have to deal with an advanced force of attackers. Daigre had seen Benac charred with a lightning gun that exceeded the suspicions relayed to him by the ill-fated nobleguard. He now feared the Jovian Nation would be woefully outmatched, unprepared for the war they were about to become engaged in.
Daigre watched billows of dust on the horizon to the east. Figuring it was the plainsman military leaving Celestial City to pursue them, he did some quick calculations in his head and decided they were no danger. The plumes suggested they were using trucks. Trucks were much faster than horses, but would fall into disrepair as soon as the first electromagnetic shock hit them. As frequent as the quakes and gusters had been in recent years, their gambit was very likely to fail. It spoke of their desperation. Daigre felt satisfied that, whatever technology they had developed, the plainsmen were ill-prepared to deal with the heavy hand of nature.
His only real concern now was Norio. He had a head start of one, perhaps two days. That meant The Guile's life was in danger. Daigre knew that Norio was as much an expert in camouflage and concealment as he was, probably more so. He considered Norio's possible routes to the Crumbles. He would have to cross at the Narrow, just as they would. Daigre had seen no tracks since leaving Celestial City, which meant Norio was either walking, or was riding a horse on a more circuitous route. Either way meant he would require more time to get to the Crumbles. With further consideration, Daigre decided he had the advantage in this situation as well. Still, complacency would be a trap. He would push his men and his horses to their limits to get back to their homeland as quickly as possible. That meant they would have to go past Edgewood, but he had no doubt they could slip by unnoticed.
Daigre noticed one of the Jugs sitting a short distance from the rest of the group. The man seemed benign for a Jug, if that were possible. He watched the Jug feeding a scavenger bird from the palm of his hand, alternately whispering and listening to it. He guessed the Jug had perhaps spent too much time alone in the desert. People were said to get sun-baked and slowly lose their minds in the perpetual desert light.
The Jug noticed Daigre watching him and fed the bird one last scrap before shooing it away. He stood when Daigre approached him. “Is there something I can do for you, Master Daigre?” he asked.
Daigre was surprised at how well-spoken this Jug was. Normally they talked very little and had a dialect that was hard to understand. This one spoke with no accent whatsoever.
“I have heard the Jugguards are experts with animals,” Daigre commented. “I did not know that included birds.”
“I enjoy feeding them,” the Jug answered. “They talk to me.”
“Of course,” Daigre replied, nodding as he confirmed his own diagnosis. “What do they tell you?”
“This one,” the jug indicated the one flying away, “tells me the caravan that left the city is traveling south, not west.”
Daigre raised an eyebrow.
"You don't believe me, of course," the Jug said.
"I am skeptical," Daigre acknowledged. "How am I to believe this bird knows which way is south?"
The Jug smiled and wagged his finger at Daigre. "You are clever, Master Daigre. You ascribe your suspicions of lunacy onto the bird, yet it is me you are wary of."
"Birds spend too much time in the heat," Daigre said. "One never knows if they realize what they are saying."
"If a bird is intelligent, don't you think they could speak with us?"
Daigre analyzed the Jug. He looked different from the rest, with a rounder, less angular facial structure. He had lighter-colored hair, a sparser beard, and his eyes were terribly bloodshot. He had not noticed this before, possibly because the Jugs kept to themselves. Now it was of interest to know why this one stood apart.
"What is your name?" Daigre asked.
"I am Rannuk Ofsalle," the Jug said, lowering his head in respect.
"You speak well for a Jugguard," Daigre said. “And you have two names. Every Jug I have met only goes by one.”
“We all have two names,” Rannuk explained. “It is simply a sign of respect to share it with someone who is not one of us.”
“And how have I earned your respect?” Daigre asked.
"I see how you treat my brothers," Rannuk explained. "I also saw how you defied the other one, Benac. Even as his ally, you did not suffer his foolishness, and you treated your captive honorably."
"Where is your home, Rannuk?" Daigre asked, wondering if the Jug might not be what he seemed.
"There is a village in a desert oasis far to the north of the great ocean," he answered. "I come from there."
"Describe the village," Daigre said.
"There are many trees which shade five ponds," Rannuk continued. "We cannot drink from the waters directly. We collect the mist that flies up from them. That is what we drink."
"That is enough," Daigre said. There was indeed a village beyond the Crumbles to the northwest, and he had heard of the Jugs there. The pond water was undrinkable due to impurities, but a geyser spewed purified steam that was captured for the villagers to drink. They lived on the edge of the Jugguard and Jovian territories. As such, they were influenced by both cultures. For this reason, they had some measure of learning and organization above their savage brothers. It was highly doubtful a plainsman would know of the village.
“Why are you here, Rannuk?” Daigre asked.
“I oversee Jugguards,” Rannuk answered simply.
“You are their master?” He had never heard of overseers before.
“No,” Rannuk replied. “I watch. I listen. I advise on opportunity. I warn on danger. They listen. They choose. I told them you were to be heeded above the other one.”
"Ah," Daigre replied. He did not trust Rannuk. "Thank you for your endorsement," he said. Not wanting to dwell too much on their relationship, he returned to the original topic of conversation. "What else did the bird tell you?"
“Six trucks loaded with supplies, enough for two months,” Rannuk replied. “A platoon of militia on horseback, plus a single person in regular clothing who wears a star on his chest.”
Daigre raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty specific for a bird.”
"Like I said, they are intelligent creatures."
Daigre thought to test Rannuk in another fashion. He pulled the dirty scroll from a bag he wore on his belt opposite his walking stick. “You heard Benac read this?”
Rannuk nodded.
“What do you think of its meaning?”
“I do not think of it,” Rannuk said. “It is couched in mystery, and not for me to know.”
Rannuk was a cagey one. Daigre decided to keep an eye on him, even while pursuing the opportunity he provided. “I need an aide,” he said. “Someone who understands the Jugguard, someone they listen to. Will you fill this role for me?”
Rannuk blinked, apparently thinking he was already filling that role. “Of course,” he bowed his head.
"Then inform your brothers that we will rest for one more hour before we ride again."
"Yes, Master Daigre." Rannuk nodded and went to relay the order.
Daigre went back to his blanket and sat down. He unraveled th
e scroll and re-read it. He was still suspicious of Rannuk, but the Jug was right; it was couched in mystery. He wondered if the meaning could be more than the obvious one. He would have to be certain before he presented his report to The Guile.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The pursuit team reached Maglev Station ahead of schedule, aided by a pause in magnetic activity across the plains. As the soldiers prepped their gear for the ride, Alex decided to check out the renowned magnetically levitated train christened humorously as The Jolly Coffin.
It didn't look like a train at all, much less magnetic. Not that Alex had ever seen a train before, but this seemed more like an ancient sailing vessel. There were no tracks for it to ride on, or water for that matter, it just hovered two meters over the canyon floor.
Walking from one end of the station boardwalk to the other, he couldn’t see anything holding it up. The only physical connections it had to the station were ropes that dangled between the train and the boardwalk. Worse than that, the train looked like it might collapse under its own weight were it not for this mysterious levitation keeping it in the air. Each of the fifteen 'train cars' was a different length than the others, built from what looked like leftover scraps of lumber, unpainted, and full of cracks due to the constant heat of the sun. Ropes lashed the cars together, and gang planks lay across the gaps between them. It appeared as rickety as its reputation suggested.