Pendulum Heroes

by James Beamon

  Mike’s search ended there. His eyes stayed locked on hers and hers on him as the moments stretched. Her grief was beyond platitudes or reconciliation. Mike had seen this look from Afghan women more times than he cared to remember. Her eyes forced him to remember those women as his mind cycled through mortar rounds and bomb blasts and the wake of villages after the Taliban swept through.

  Gazi found them and broke the woman’s hold on Mike. He put a hand on Ruki’s shoulder, his jaw tight as he spoke to the merchant.

  “Now you see firsthand what we deal with. It is something guests we welcome should not have to witness. Come.”

  He led them back to the beehive bar. The place was both full and quiet as the many nasrans nursed their beers in silence, either drinking to remember or drinking to forget. Gazi spoke to two guys at a table, who grabbed their beers and went to join others standing at the bar. Soon the four of them sat with a glass of their own.

  “What are these Hollowers?” Ruki asked.

  “They are hollow people. There is nothing inside them to reason with or bleed out. They seek the blood of others. This is as much as anyone can tell you about Hollowers.”

  “But why do they attack?”

  “Who can say? They do not talk to state their purpose. Stories of them have existed since before I was a child, talk of unkillable demons who turned whole villages to cinder. Attacks and sightings used to be so rare that Hollowers were myth, tales to frighten children. This goes back to what we spoke of earlier; they are the reason we cannot give you our hexes.”

  “That’s your plan then?” Ruki asked. “Keep all the hexes and die a slow death of attrition?”

  Gazi looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “Do you have a better plan?”

  “Hollowers are too impossible to be physical. That means they’re magical. The Hierophane can help. They are my next stop on this caravan and the hexes I can deliver with a promise of more to come from Maltep would do wonders to procuring mages to root out the cause of your Hollower menace.”

  Gazi shook his head. “Many here believe the factory mages are the source of the Hollowers. These attacks only became more frequent when the nasran clans stopped supplying the Hierophane with hexes for their infernal devices.”

  Mike had heard enough. At this rate they’d be here all day getting a history lesson for a world he wasn’t supposed to be in. He moved his beer out of the way and leaned over to point at Gazi.

  “You know that don’t make sense, right?”

  “What do you mean, little one?”

  “You said yourself these attacks been happening since way back when. If y’all were hooking the Hierophane up with product all that time, it sounds like you shoulda had a Hollower-free childhood. Seems like the mages are just an excuse for y’all to renege on a deal.”

  Gazi’s eyes turned cold. “Excuse or no, there will be no hexes on your caravan.”

  He stood to leave. Ruki grabbed his arm.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here until morning. I’d hate to be out in the dry flats at night with the threat of Hollowers lurking in the dark.”

  Gazi bowed his head. “It is the least we can do, friend Provos.”

  Once Gazi was out of earshot, Ruki turned to his security detail. “I don’t think he’ll be calling me friend after what I do tonight.”

  Mike raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

  A crooked grin crept up on tradesman’s lips. “Ruki Provos delivers what he promises.”

  Mike leaned in and whispered. “You’re gonna heist them.”

  “I just want my three crates. We got three guys. This should be easy. So why not?”

  “Because there’s nothing in it for me and Runt,” Mike said.

  “Because they will kill us if they discover theft,” Runt said.

  “Guys! What do you mean?” Ruki asked as if he was offended by their legitimate observations. “Of course you’re getting something; you’re getting the ride you wanted. You think I’m going to the Hierophane with nothing to deliver?

  “And you,” he said pointing to Runt. “You’re already guilty by association. They catch me with a crate full of contraband and they won’t hesitate to lop your head off for good measure.”

  “We can just snitch you out,” Mike said.

  “Or I can kill you right now,” Runt said flatly. He was looking more at Ruki’s pointing finger than his face.

  Ruki seemed to realize that pointing and making veiled death threats to a half-weagr wasn’t the smartest play in the book. He retracted his finger and smoothed out his shirt.

  “Was I coming off as hostile? This isn’t hostility, guys. It’s passion. We can do this. Besides, I’m the only one who can drive the caravan. So whether it’s you or the nasran who kill me the result is the same; you two are stuck walking through the dry flats with few supplies and only a vague idea of where you’re going.”

  Mike had to hand it to him, Ruki was a hustler. The whole point of riding the caravan was to get to the Hierophane as fast as possible. Besides, Mike had more of a problem with snitching than he did with stealing.

  He looked at Runt. “What do you think?”

  Runt nodded. “Rather ride than walk. And like him, I would take what I’m owed.”

  Ruki’s grin turned into a salesman’s smile. “Excellent, men! You’ll see, it’ll be as easy as getting a wheel downhill.”

  He began to sketch out a plan, which basically amounted to a smash and grab. Mike had a few issues with it, as it didn’t account for any lookouts or Ruki staying back to keep the engine running. He was fixing to bring this up when they were interrupted by a nasran woman taking a seat in the empty chair.

  “You will fail,” she said, her tone flat and matter-of-fact. Mike recognized her face and gray-streaked hair. She was the lone mourner.

  “My dear, whatever do you mean?” Ruki asked, his brow furrowing up in confusion. “I’m just having a business discussion with my security team. If you don’t mind, I have to ask you to find another table so we can get back to that.”

  She did not budge. “You do not fool me, Provos Trader. I can see it in your eyes. I see it shimmer all around you. You will pursue what’s yours like a dog on a scent. And you will die like a dog unless you take my help.”

  “I’m not entirely sure of what you’re talking about. And even if I did, I don’t see you being of any help.”

  She leaned in. “Do you know where we keep our hex stores?”

  “Um...”

  “Were you planning to just wander through the sacred mounds of Maltep opening doors and looking in as if that wouldn’t attract notice?”

  “Err...” Ruki leaned back and looked at Runt and Mike like he had forgotten how to form words. Asking her to elaborate or help would be an early admission of guilt. Telling her to go away would leave them paddling in waters she clearly pointed out were way over their heads. Mike stepped in, asking a question that did neither.

  “Why you want to help us?”

  She looked at Mike long enough to only speak one word. “Passage.” Then she turned her attention back to Ruki. “On your caravan. There is nothing left for me here.”

  Ruki shook his head. “A ride doesn’t seem like reason enough to go to the lengths you’re going.”

  “It is a better reason than any reason to stay. Staying just makes more graves, and I am not content with that.”

  “But how—” Ruki started.

  “She’s in,” Mike said, cutting him off.

  “This doesn’t seem prudent to me, Mike.”

  “Seems to me that having an insider will keep us from tripping over ourselves in a place none of us knows squat about. Also seems to me that this isn’t a set-up... what’s the point of working so hard to get us to do something we were gonna do anyway? If you want prudent, then get over getting screwed out of your hexes and let’s head out.”

  Ruki nodded. “Prudence is overrated.”

  The woman called herself Savashbahar. Her
plan was simple, clean, better.

  “This goes off like I think it will and you’ll have yourself a ride,” Ruki said with a smile. “Where do you want to go anyway?”

  Savashbahar’s response was flat. “Right now, to a place where no one asks questions.” She left as suddenly as she came.

  The three strangers to Maltep passed the time amongst themselves while the village tried to recover from a day of tragedy. Nasran men mourned by drinking in silence for a long while. Every now and again, one would stand on their table or the bar and regale the whole room with their favorite story about one of the fallen, tales of mischief and escapades. At the end of the story, everyone would raise a glass and cheer the dead’s name. It went on like this well into the night.

  Wordlessly, Ruki rose from his seat. Mike and Runt followed him out of the bar. The night air felt like walking into a refrigerator; Mike hadn’t realized how stuffy the bar had gotten.

  Without the sun’s heinous glare, Maltep looked like an entirely different place. The lake shimmered like it was full of silver sequins; the roads and lakeshore buildings had a subdued orange glow under the brown of the mud. Mike looked up at the sacred mounds, where they were fixing to tempt fate. Countless torches burned, hints of pale green light with angry red, dotting the many holes carved into the hills.

  Ruki Provos continued to walk toward the lake where his caravan waited. Mike and Runt broke off and walked around the back of the tavern. They found Savashbahar there, facing the sacred mounds as she sat in the dirt. Her backward knees let her legs fold up into the air, where she rested her arms across the soles of her boots.

  She rose without a sound and proceeded to the furthest mound. It would be that one, Mike thought. Images of him struggling to carry a big ass box of hexes from the mound to the caravan flitted across his mind.

  He understood why the nasrans considered the mounds sacred when they got inside an opening. It wasn’t so much a cavern as it was a meticulously carved hall, perfectly round from floor to ceiling, as if a giant earthworm had tunneled it out. The ceiling was decorated with colorful, tiny tiles stuck together to form a pathway of designs. These were not just a bunch of raggedy caves.

  Savashbahar led them through twists and turns without pausing. Within a few minutes their path opened out into a huge expanse shaped like a sphere. A town bigger than the Maltep outside filled the bowl of the sphere, full of small beehive buildings and avenues. Mike marveled at a miniature green sun suspended high in the air, bathing the entire town in chlorophyll colored neon. The roof of the cave was covered in glittering tiles that his eyes got lost in.

  Savashbahar grabbed onto Runt’s meaty arm and sobbed into it. “Lead,” she whispered after a sobbing spell. “I’ll guide.”

  They sob-walked their way through the busy streets of the cave village. Runt and Savashbahar drew only token attention, as the sound of chicks wailing their lungs out could be heard from several buildings and out on the streets. Savashbahar’s sobs were tame in comparison.

  “Up ahead. Guarded,” she whispered and took her sobbing up a notch. Sure enough, Mike saw the guard standing in front of a building the size of a small warehouse, his glaive held out.

  When Savashbahar had sobbed her way past the guard, she stopped and faced him. “Why, you’re a hex guard. Do you know, my dear Dushunmek wanted to become Hexenarii?”

  The guard turned his head to look at her, the disdain apparent in his voice. “I don’t care. His death gives you no quarter among us, witch. Now move along.”

  The guard’s head turn was all the angle Mike needed. He clonked the guard with his club, just hard enough to force an early bedtime.

  They pulled the guard into the building. Green-tinged torches lined the walls, revealing a room packed with boxes. There had to be more hex crates than people in Maltep.

  Mike shook his head. “You stingy packrats,” he said to no one in particular.

  Savashbahar picked out three crates. Then she went over to an open crate, rooted around and pulled out a handful of hexes.

  “Be fast but cautious. Stay in the alleyways. Unescorted foreigners alone in Maltep are cause for suspicion, even more so when carrying whole crates of hexes.”

  Her words made Mike rethink the plan she had devised.

  “It’d be easier and less suspicious if you helped us with these boxes,” he said. “We got here easy enough. I don’t think we need whatever distraction you’re planning.”

  “Sus,” she said in way so quick and sharp that the word could only mean “hush”. “I am no one to explain to others how you have these boxes. They need their attention on other things. I will meet with you before you realize.” She mumbled something that Mike couldn’t quite hear then smacked him on the back. “Be manly.”

  Those last words stung. “Word? You attack a dude’s manhood over a box?” Mike grumbled but went to the nearest crate. He lifted it easily enough but carrying it was awkward because of its relative size. “No wonder that cat I knocked out called you a witch.”

  Savashbahar’s lip curled up into a grin. “Remember, alleyways, back to the tunnel.” She was out the door, gone to cause a commotion somewhere else.

  Runt had no problem holding a crate under each arm. He led the way, Mike’s visibility reduced because of the hulking container he had to crane his neck to see past.

  They made good time, darting from alley to alley. The cave sat in near-daylight conditions because of the green mini sun, but most of the streets were narrow enough that Mike and Runt only had a couple of seconds at most of street exposure. When they got to a large avenue, Runt cast a quick peek around the corner, then set a crate down and raised a closed fist—the freeze symbol.

  “Six nasran men, two women approach. Will pass this alley in twelve paces.”

  Twelve paces, not enough time to run back they way they came. Any one of the eight pairs of eyes would likely see them if they stayed. Running out across the wide avenue was a suicide on stealth.

  “Hide!” Mike hissed, setting his crate against the wall and ducking behind it.

  Runt looked at the two boxes he had carried like they were puzzle pieces. Even if he stacked them and hid, his linebacker girth would leave half his body visible. Finally, he set the boxes side-by-side and lay down behind them in the fetal position.

  For the first time today, Mike was glad the nasran ladies were loud and active grievers. He heard the group come and go without any difficulty.

  Runt checked for clear coasts again. He shook his head. “Two more approach. Twenty-five paces.”

  “Dude, I say we crack these fools over the head. We gotta do something. I ain’t hiding behind this box all night.”

  They wouldn’t have to. The green light from the mini sun started to flicker. Mike looked up and saw clouds forming inside the cave, obscuring the glittering tiles on the ceiling.

  Then the rain came. Heavy rain. Mike could hear the sun sizzle and pop, trying to fight the water. But the sun didn’t have enough juice to match this level of storm and after a few moments it turned gray like a used piece of charcoal.

  Darkness fell. Mike’s vision came alive in that darkness. Being megrym had some perks.

  “I’ll lead,” he said.

  They ran through rain-slicked alleys and side streets, Mike craning his neck to see ahead of him. The rain slowed to a drizzle, making it easier for Mike to navigate obstacles. What wasn’t easy was remembering which streets they needed to take to get out. A map would’ve been nice, or...

  Think of the devil. Savashbahar burst out at a “T” intersection in the alley, her hair wet and clinging to her face. Mike almost dropped his box in surprise.

  “How’d you find us?”

  “Satisfy your curiosity after your safety. Not before. Keep straight; I will guide your course.”

  Mike was starting to hate how she talked to him. But she had a point. He took off, her in step right behind. She called out the streets, the lefts and rights. Her distraction had caused many nasrans
to come out of their homes and into the bigger avenues, but very few torches were among them. Apparently, they were not used to their sun losing light. Mike navigated in the near pitch and dodged light sources with ease.

  They passed a last side street and entered a clearing, where Mike saw the opening to the cave dead ahead. He had to admit, the old lady’s plan had gone off picture perfect.

  A ball of orange flame hit the wall next to the tunnel, blasting the darkness with light that made Mike’s eyes shriek in pain. Fiery rocks rained down around them, making them stop in their tracks.

  “Feral witch, stop your blasphemies, now!”

  They turned to face the voice.

  Three Hexenarii stood at the ready a few paces behind them, looking pissed.

  Chapter 13

  Clever Broad

  The three Hexenarii approached with caution, each holding green torches in one hand and a hex in the other like a loaded gun. Mike recognized the one in the lead; he had given the other Hexenarii and fighting men their battle orders when the Hollowers had attacked. Now he was seething as he spoke to Savashbahar.

  “You would extinguish the sacred fire? And for what, to aid foreigners in our destruction?”

  “I have seen what you hold as sacred and what you hold as yasak,” Savashbahar said. “Neither holds a place in my heart, Demirtash.”

  “Have you gazed upon your own death, witch?” Demirtash asked. “Tell me, I’d like to know if you die by my hand or by Eclipse, looking down at the city you betrayed while the whole host of Maltep watches you burn.”

  Savashbahar pulled out a dagger, slow and steady. She raised it in the air with the same deliberate care. Mike knew any fast moves and these guys would bake her on the spot. He didn’t get what she could possibly do with that little knife that would do them any good. He stood a better chance of defending himself with the crate he was carrying.