The Ruins of the Lost World

by C K Burch

  Ryder reached forward to open the gate, but the sound of the drones changed from an ambling buzz to an enraged howling chorus, as every drone circling the gate descended on him at once. He screamed and tore at them, desperate to remove them from his person, but they were upon him as one massive cluster. Dust watched in horror as the bees did not appear to be stinging the man; they simply piled on and smothered him.

  “It burns!” Ryder screamed. “Oh god it burns! Help me! Help me please!”

  Hearing this, the remaining crew of the Venture collectively decided they were finished with this scenario, and they abandoned their captain to his fate.

  Quivering and shaking, the bees held on despite Ryder's attempts to get them off of him. Somehow they were cooking him alive, boiling his insides – what little Dust could see of the man's body was bright red like a lobster, clearly in agony. All Dust could think of was that was going to be either he or Jack or Cairn next, and picturing this he could not will his limbs to move and grab at the torch which had fallen from Ryder's grasp and rolled onto the floor. He bit his lip; he tried to force himself to take those precious few steps, take the torch, light it, take Jack and Cairn, then leave and never return to this horrific scene. His heart cried out in fear that, should he take the wrong step, it would be him next being cooked alive covered in a mass of squirming, heavy, crawling monsters –

  Cairn screamed; it was so unlike the boy that Dust was shaken from his frozen reaction and he turned to see him waving his arms frantically at a drone which was hovering in an orbit about the boy's head, even as Cairn fell over to one side and curled himself into a ball out of protection. Another drone swept down and closed in – between the two bees, as they danced in the air, Cairn's figure was almost hidden from sight. He screamed again. Simultaneously, Jack lay curled up on the floor, covering the back of her head with her hands for protection, as two drones crawled over her, investigating, not yet attacking, but soon that might change. She was as still as death despite the circumstance, god knowing what terror crawled over her.

  Finally, at last, Dust snapped out of his trance.

  Leaving the torch alone, he reached down for his whip and unfurled it, snapping twice on either side of the drones circling Cairn. It had the intended effect: they began to leap in one direction, then quickly to the opposite as each resounding crack exploded in the air like cannonfire in succession, disorienting the insects from attack into retreat. Dust then aimed his weapon at the bees on Jack, and the whip popped directly above their bodies. They leapt away into the air, and as they did Dust turned to see that some of the bees attacking Ryder had disengaged as well.

  With this, he let off another series of snaps, careful not to actually strike any of the bees, but around them, to whip them into a flight of fear. With the first crack the swarm retreated as one, a cloud, like a bag of leaves burst into the air. He only continued his onslaught to ensure. Up they went, bumbling and bouncing into each other, caroming off the walls and across the hive as they made a mad dash for safety. Ryder remained face down on the floor, still as death, red as a burning coal. Dust did not care to look at the aftermath of the bees' attack; he might freeze up again.

  Quickly, he turned and took another cup of Amrita as Jack pushed herself to her hands and knees, sensing the time to run was now; she gathered Cairn into her arms, and they then made for the gate, which Jack swiftly slammed shut as they exited the chamber and collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily out of relief. All of them were – Dust felt the sweat of his forehead streaming down across his face as his chest heaved up and down, adrenaline leaving his body to quake in consequence, the leftovers of violent fear displaced for the time being. Each of them were safe from the potential horror of the honeymakers, and Dust embraced the two of them, all three reunited at last, engaged in the moment of silence and sweetness as all were well.

  Dust reached out and touched Jack's face. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. She cradled her friend as she began to cry, which she made an attempt to keep back at first, but the dam of emotion had breached, and there would be no withholding. Openly she wept joyfully to that notion, caressing Cairn's red curls with motherly love.

  Cairn sniffled back tears as well, and looked up at Dust. “Thanks for the rescue, guv.”

  Dust felt the sweat of anxiety flowing over his forehead and he grinned. “It's not over yet, kid. Here, open wide. It'll feel really weird but it works as promised.”

  Cairn nodded and opened his mouth like a baby bird waiting to be fed, and Dust gently poured a small amount of Amrita over the boy's tongue. A moment passed, and the same seizure overcame him, but Jack was ready for it and held onto Cairn tight, whispering promises and soothing words of confidence as it happened. Dust, amazed, watched as the wound in Cairn's side slowly knit itself together before his very eyes, sealing shut as though it had never existed in the first. Then, after this, Cairn came to rest, sweating profusely, but alright.

  “Am I whole again?” he asked.

  Dust and Jack grinned first at the boy, then at each other. Everything was whole once more.

  Outside, the sound of men screaming and machine guns firing got both of their attentions.

  “The naga,” Dust realized. “They followed us. Karaang and the others – ”

  “Thomas is fighting his way out,” Jack seethed.

  “No,” Dust replied, “Ryder's men. Thomas doesn't have a gun.”

  “Neither do we.”

  “Oh.” Dust's eyes widened with realization. “Shit.”

  “Up,” Jack commanded. “Run! While they're distracted!”

  No further incitement was necessary. They were all on their feet in moments, at a full sprint the next. Dust minded Cairn, who lingered behind the two adults only slightly, his small frame able to run nearly as quickly as either of them, but only nearly. Shortly, however, that would not matter, as the continuing staccato of Tommy guns implied that they would need to dodge and maneuver with strategy very shortly. So long as their jeep was free and could still start, they could take it for their own to escape the violence and then little else would matter.

  But only if they were quick enough.

  ***

  XII

  Ahead of them, the unmistakable sound of men screaming died away, replaced by inhuman growling and roaring. However, as they stepped into the light of day, a wonder greeted their eyes: where Dust had expected to find an ongoing battle between man and serpent, the bodies of the mercenaries lay across the ground before the Bandara. Only one of the men appeared to still be alive, curled up on the ground in a protective ball, quivering in deep fear. Whatever gunfire that had occurred moments ago had no doubt been easily quelled. But an even stranger wonder was staged here, as Dust began to realize that the only bodies out in the street were human forms – there were no naga to be seen. Incredulously, he looked around at the Bandara who stood before them, and noted their torn skin and ragged fur, the pelts dripping with matted blood. And yet, here they stood victorious. Dust whistled appreciatively.

  As he turned and took in the now-familiar sight of Johyung, standing tall and proud and fierce and full of strength, he thought of his own body, his limbs restored and healed, and he marveled at the realization that the guardians must carry the nectar with them – it only made sense in such a dangerous world which they were tasked with protecting. And after such a battle, so many of their sisters attacked and clawed, of course they would utilize its healing properties. Incredible. To think that these warriors were as powerful as they were physically, but also understood that they could throw themselves into any situation and more than likely emerge from whatever pain and damage inflicted on the other side...what strange and awesome courage they must have, to endure torment on a properly consistent basis, as the healing powers of the nectar did not belay the pain inflicted before. Incredible and admirable.

  Johyung whirled around to face them as they approached, prepared to attack yet another member of the Venture crew, but she su
bdued herself upon recognizing the trio. As the rest of the Bandara surrounding them took notice as well, the general air changed from that of hostility into victory, what with the mercenaries toppled and the friendlies reemerged from the spire. Dust smiled; he could not help but feel overwhelmed with gladness at Johyung's might restored.

  In return, Johyung raised her fist into the air and shouted, “Glory to Hanuman! Glory!”

  A chorus of chants responded in kind – Glory! Glory! Glory! – and a moment later Karaang was beside Johyung, glancing approvingly at the humans before her as a proud mother would.

  Jack bowed slightly. “Karaang.”

  Karaang returned the gesture. “Jack. Well met and fought, dear sister.”

  Cairn held himself back cautiously, staring at Karaang with a look of oddity. “Why's it so you can understand that monster and I can't?”

  Dust began to explain, then stopped himself. At this point in the adventure, it might be more trouble than it was worth. “Long story, kid. You'll either find out on your own, or I'll tell you later.”

  Jack smiled at Cairn, then frowned and whirled about in place, realizing that a piece of the puzzle was missing. “Where's Thomas?”

  “Seven hells,” Dust muttered. They'd nearly forgotten the bastard in the joy of reunion.

  On cue with this, muffled sounds of fearful struggle came from behind the jeep sitting nearby. Plucked out from hiding, Thomas was lifted into the air by one of the Bandara, who grasped the back of his neck with a fierce grip. What a turn to see His Lordship now: his white suit browned and caked with mud and blood, his swept back hair ruffled and dirtied, his handsome features masked with terror and obstinance as he held the cup of Amrita close to his chest in protection. Even as the warrior shook him roughly to loose the cup from his grasp, Thomas held on defiantly and with a wild madness that eliminated any sense of status he may have had left. Gone was the shallow drunkard who made deals with his checkbook; here, now, lay the sight of the man beneath the facade, a wicked lesser demon who could only hope to somehow be called a devil.

  “Wait!” Jack cried out, rushing over. “Stop!”

  Karaang snapped her fingers to assert Jack's claim. The warrior complied, and Thomas fell ass-first onto the ground, where he sat and curled up. Even as Jack approached him, his eyes were meant only for the guardians, who now enclosed a circle around him, each one daring him to make some sort of maneuver that he would regret. Feral, angry, he whipped his head around, protecting his precious cup of immortality.

  Dust approached as well, cautious to stay off to one side. He worried that Jack still yet had some form of empathy for her brother, which he would understand, in a way, if she did. And yet, with all his treachery, his unpredictable behavior, his violence, he wondered what the man truly deserved. But it would not be Dust's choice that decided – whatever Thomas' fate was to be, it would be for Jack and Jack alone to choose.

  Thomas, watching his sister approach, underwent a transformation: his feral eyes wept, one hand outstretched in a plea of contrition, all while clutching close the cup in his opposite hand. Upon his knees he assumed the position of begging, which was appropriately fitting.

  “Sissie,” he mewled, hardly able to form words through what could only be considered mortal fear. “Please. I beg you. Take me away from these monsters.”

  Jack did not reply. Calmly, her face unreadable, she strode forward and picked up one of the mercenaries' fallen Tommy guns from the ground, and when she stood above Thomas she placed the barrel of the weapon directly to his forehead. He flinched as though it were a hot brand, and he began to back away on his butt, but he scooted himself into the side of the jeep blocking any escape. Jack followed him during his entire retreat, the gun never leaving his forehead.

  “Sissie,” Thomas whimpered.

  Jack held out one hand while the other maintained the weapon. “The cup.” Her voice was muted and clean. No emotion crept through.

  Thomas did as he was told without hesitation.

  Jack held the cup out behind her for someone to take. Sensing his cue, Dust leapt forward and removed it from her grasp.

  She her hand out once more. “Checkbook.”

  Thomas' eyes grew huge. He shook his head.

  Jack worked the action to ensure that the machinegun was loaded and ready.

  He jumped at the sound, which in the silence could have been a firecracker. “Sissie, please,” he begged, tears over his cheeks and his nose a faucet. “We don't need to come to that, do we? I've, after all I've, I mean, I daresay I've made contrition, haven't I? I've let you alone, I surrender myself, eh? I surrender myself! I'm, I'm changed, I'm – ”

  Jack snapped her fingers and waved her hand for him to comply. “Checkbook.”

  Understanding crept through his thick skull. This was no longer his sissie. This was a woman who had undergone a change in this land; her heart had hardened against him, which was something he only had his own actions to blame for. If he could accept that, then perhaps he might make the correct decision. Perhaps.

  After a few rapid-fire breaths of consideration, Thomas reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the checkbook for her to take. It trembled in his hand, and Jack waited just a moment longer than necessary, allowing him to wonder if she was actually going to take it or had just meant to humiliate him. The paper flapped as his hand shuddered, and finally Jack removed it from him and placed the checkbook inside her satchel.

  She pulled the machinegun away and held it out behind her. “Take this from me before I am tempted to use it.”

  Dust, on cue once more, happily removed the weapon from her. He realized that he had been holding his breath during the entire exchange, and gratefully exhaled. Not that his wishes leaned more towards sparing Thomas' life – on the contrary – but that the tension was finally dispelled one way or the other. Jack held a magnetic sort of intensity about her now, one that was impossible to ignore or to merely wave away, and he understood more than ever that to underestimate her resolve would be incredibly ignorant.

  “So,” Dust asked, “what do you want to do with him, then?”

  “We'll take him back to London,” Jack replied, “and there I will let Father deal with him.”

  Thomas' eyes widened ever further.

  He stood. He began to plea again, his hands doubling over themselves before him. “Sissie. You wouldn't. You know how he can be.”

  Her eyes narrowed to a barely discernible slit, she spit on the ground at his feet, and leaned in close. “It's what mother would do.”

  Thomas recoiled for a moment, realizing the depth of her honesty, and underwent one final change. No more was he the simpering brother, but again the lesser demon, his shoulders high and tight, his back hunching, and his breath hissed from between his teeth like steam. “You,” he seethed, “you vermicious cunt.”

  Jack stepped forward and cracked her fist against his chin. Thomas' expression went blank and his body limp, and he knocked the back of his skull against the jeep. He lay still, out cold.

  Jack shook her fist and spit on the ground once more. “Fuck you.”

  Dust and Cairn stared at her in awe.

  “Sweet mother,” Dust whispered.

  “Bloody right, guv,” Cairn agreed.

  Without pause, Jack turned and strode to the remaining Venture crewman who had surrendered to the guardians. This one had watched the entire exchange between Jack and her brother, and as she approached him he immediately put out his hands in surrender.

  Jack stood over him and pulled out her checkbook. “Your ship no longer has a captain, and I have a lot of money. Vouch for me to take over command of the Venture when we return, and I'll fill your pockets and spare your life as reward. Are we agreed?”

  Blankly, the crewman nodded.

  She nodded in return, sealing their pact. “Load my brother into the jeep and let's be ready to make haste. I'm quite ready to be rid of this place.”

  The man nodded, now all business. “Mum. I mean
, captain.” He got up as though he'd never fired a single shot in her direction, and set about hauling the unconscious body of Thomas into the vehicle.

  Dust came up beside her. “I'm not sure if I should impressed, or intimidated.”

  “Is it not enough to ask for both?” She flashed a mischievous smile.

  He returned the expression. “I don't think it is.”

  She giggled, but her giddiness was cut short. Looking down at the cup of nectar which Dust now held, a mask of seriousness crossed her. Gingerly, she took the cup in her hands, examining the pool of honey as it gently moved from side to side, coating the rim with a thin film. Here now she held the object of her quest, that which had spurred her onwards from the beginning, and her expression gave away her intense dissatisfaction.

  “Well?” Dust inquired. “Was it worth it?”

  “I can't rightly say,” Jack replied, her voice distant as she mused upon this.

  Perhaps this had not been worth it, in the end. Or perhaps, in a different way, it had been: she had discovered something within herself that had been there all along, a resolve, a hardened steel which her mother had cultivated and crafted with love, once lost yet now found anew. If only that would mean this adventure had proven bountiful. Dust considered these things quietly, and made note to discuss this with her later. After all, it would be her perspective on this finale which would yield the truth, not his impression.

  As he gave all of this thought, Jack turned around and offered the cup to Karaang. The guardian bowed her head slightly in thanks, and accepted.

  “Thank you,” Jack whispered, and she bowed her head in return. She wiped away a tear.