Damage Control

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Sebastian frowned, moving farther into the dark ice. “Those could be Germanic tribes.”

  “DNA sequencing says Teutonic and Celtic. The garments found with a family of ice mummies was woven from wool from Ireland.” She stopped, looked at him, securing the rope. “It was the first find of Celts in China. On the Chengdu Plain, they found Scandinavian artifacts of the Bronze and Iron Age as well as in Siberia. Vikings were a busy bunch. You have to give them credit, raiding marauders till about 900 AD, then they used the fear factor to become traders. Real capitalist.” She turned and walked backward on the platform. “It gets a bit steep here. Careful.”

  “You found this legend in China.”

  “A reference. Viking symbols, runes, on a stone sarcophagus in Jimaisu. Manchuria province,” she said when he frowned. “The Viking traders went farther than we suspected. The ships were wide with a shallow hull and they could traverse rivers.”

  “But the Viking symbols don’t prove an Irish legend in China.”

  “True, but it was the origins of it. This woman made enough of an impression for the Khan to include her and the Viking in his tomb decor which was only unearthed two years ago. There was a Celtic endless knot carved. I’ll show you the rubbing, so yes, it’s not just a folktale, the legend is true.” She pushed off and let a few inches of rope slide through her gloved fingers. “The markings on the sarcophagus tell of a long battle for some sacred relic. The emperor’s people had been slaughtered for it and he wanted it gone.”

  “Why not just destroy it?”

  “Apparently it couldn’t be destroyed.” At his doubtful look, she just shrugged. “I don’t make the story up, just fill in the blanks.” She shined her light on the walls, frowning.

  “So what was the relic everyone’s so hot to get?”

  “That was the big mystery. The monk’s diary says it’s a sphere, but there wasn’t any other mention of it anywhere that we could find.” She studied the walls, the pumping equipment, her spikes in the ice keeping her from twisting. “We didn’t know it even existed till the diary, and there wasn’t any solid reference of it till I found markings in China on the emperor’s tomb. The khan called it di nény ér. A changeling. In Chinese that could just mean people who were different from them or just growing old, but in most cultures, it means a spirit inhabiting a child’s body. The legend stretches too far for it not to have more substance.” She lowered a few more feet. “The Chinese emperor insisted she take the gift with her, far away from his land enough to send along a ship, Manchurian soldiers, and an assortment of bling for their trouble.”

  The elf and the giant, Sebastian thought, a strange prickle working over his skin. It was real.

  “They sailed to Ireland with it, but something happened, the murder of the Maguire’s potential brides, I’d say, and she sent the gift away with her adopted father.”

  “No more story?”

  “Not exactly. We’re here.”

  Sebastian looked down. “Holy shit.” It was a cavern of ice so thick it looked blue, the walls sweeping elegantly back and like an offering on a plate of ice was a massive wooden ship. He looked at her, then back to the dig. “It’s the Vikings.”

  “I hope it is, or I’m gonna get a really big bill for all this.” He glanced, smiled. “We’ve retrieved enough to know the period coincides with the legend. The mast was removed first. Even the sail fabric was still attached.”

  Sebastian slid closer, and could smell the decay, the chemicals in the melting ice. “How much longer till you reach the deck?”

  “About six hours,” she said, studying the walls, the water collected and forced out the tubing.

  “Are you going to excavate the whole ship?”

  “No, too dangerous. There are cracks all through that ice.” She pointed out a deep one. “Chunks can fall without any stress. As long as the weather holds, we can study it. We’re not excavating any farther than the deck. But do you see that?” She focused her penlight on the bow and Sebastian could see the outline of a body trapped in the ice, perfectly preserved, yet lying as if sleeping. “I’m hoping that’s the Viking chieftain.”

  Even from twenty feet above, the deck of the ship showed oars, kettles, and more ice mummies. He looked up; the surface was a good eighty feet away and the walls were slick. He could feel cold air swirling inside the cavern, keeping the wall frozen, he supposed, but was just damn awed by the ship below. “Jesus, look at the size of that broadsword.” It was thrust into the deck at an angle and he imagined the Viking using it to keep himself standing. “What’s your theory on how this got here?”

  She tipped her head, thinking. “Blown off course, maybe. Paleoclimatologists say it was a season of big storms then. They were coming home. Maybe to Iceland, Svalbard Norway, or Greenland.”

  “And the Aramina log Noble bought?”

  “It records the last sighting of this ship above the ice floe. The Aramina sailed near these shores and her Portuguese captain saw the vessel trapped in the ice. He made a note of it in his ship’s log with the coordinates by the stars.”

  Sebastian’s featured tightened. “The Russian has it, Olivia. They know this exists.”

  “Another reason I’m glad you brought more guns and the chopper. The Aramina log was the third reference in a pilot’s log of the sighting.” She shrugged, then heard her name. She craned her neck to look past him to the surface. “Yes, Cruz?”

  “The air needs to be replaced and I detect shifting.”

  “Which side?” she called up.

  “Your left,” he said after a moment.

  She twisted, her feet braced on the wood platform, her body nearly parallel with the Viking ship as she spied her light over the walls. “We need to get out,” she said. “No one has been in here for a couple days. You first.”

  “You’re the boss.” Her soft snicker followed him as he worked his way back up, securing himself though it wasn’t necessary. The scaffolding and platform were strong, not even shifting with their weight. But then, it was in ice that was melting. He thrust himself onto the landing, then reached for her as she stepped onto the wood platform.

  Her boot spikes caught and she flung forward. Sebastian grabbed her and swung her away from the opening. She was sandwiched against him and his body practically moaned.

  “I planned that,” she said.

  He smiled back. “Ross doesn’t know about us, does he?”

  “No, no one does. I’d like to keep it that way.” She stepped back, unlocking the boot spikes and stripping off the harness. “I’m not embarrassed, but it’s a small group, young, they like to tease.” She returned the gear to the racks, then faced him “Ross thinks you’re too much of a badass to be around.” Her expression said that amused the hell out of her.

  “Good. That little puke needs his clock cleaned for being a slacker.”

  She smothered a laugh. “Don’t hold back now, tell me how you really feel.”

  His gaze slid over her incredible body in thermal slacks and a turtleneck that fit so well, he could tell she was cold. “Really want to know?” He rolled in the ropes.

  “I think I have a good idea.” She moved in closer, keeping her voice low. “Wild monkey sex in a Vegas penthouse for starters.” That memory slammed through him, stirring him in all the wrong places, and he groaned. “Ooo, that’s a familiar sound,” she added even softer and he wanted to take her somewhere dark and attempt to re-create it.

  “Behave,” he warned when Cruz approached.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Sebastian. Some people take too many risks.” He looked pointedly at Olivia, and she made a girly eye-rolling face at him. “Speaking of which, I need to take your stitches out of your bullet wound.”

  Sebastian swung a look at Olivia, brows high. What the hell was she doing lately?

  “Mention that again and I’ll revoke your security clearance,” she said through gritted teeth, and Sebastian smothered a bark of laughter he knew she wouldn’t like. “Just what do you wa
nt, Cruz?”

  The kid flushed, leveling a pleading look to him. “Hey, your stew, man.”

  “I thought you had that whole protect the civilians vibe going,” Cruz shot back, “Because she needs it.”

  He moved alongside Olivia. “You need to get to the point, DeGama.”

  Cruz sobered instantly and looked at her. “I loaded the flash drive and scanned the monk’s diary into your PC.”

  “Thank you. I need you to go through it, and look for commonality.” Cruz hurried away. Olivia spoke softly, and explained that she was in the manor to pick up a flash drive Noble had left behind. “It’s copies of his research. His note with the diary said to follow the traders. I’m praying whatever he wants me to find is in those files. If these people are doing all this to find the relic, then we need to find it first so we can bargain with it to get Noble back.”

  Sebastian doubted that’s all the Russians were up to, but that she’d give up what would probably be the find of the century settled a warm comfort somewhere in his chest. But then, he knew she would.

  “From what Noble told me, its significance wasn’t in the artifact, but the danger it presents. Think about it. Wars fought over it, then paid to take it away, and it couldn’t be destroyed? I think the Chinese emperor called it a changeling for a good reason.” He met her gaze. “They were terrified of it.”

  TEN

  May 5, 1175

  I met a most curious woman this day. Whilst taking my morning walk and as well, my daily conversation with you, my lord, I was drawn to the cliffs. I find where water meets land with such anger oddly stirring and this occasion was not without its merit. I watched for a measure of time, then made to return to the monastery when I spotted a small group camped beneath the trees on the old ruins of a manor house. I cannot recall the name of the family landowners, but its defense is left to the chieftain, the Maguire. It was the reunite’s peculiar ensemble that brought fear and reservations. Aye, my lord, I did not offer my presence. Cowardly, mayhaps, but how can I serve here if I’m dead and at your side?

  I happened on the smoke from the fire first, and found a man standing far from it. The fellow was astonishingly tall and wrapped in leather and furs. He carried a shield on his back and didn’t take a single step without his sword. I have never seen such a weapon. It equaled my own height and was most certainly difficult to wield. Yet ’twas his stature that startled, more so that it forced him to bend to speak with a much darker, fierce looking man from the East. If you’ll recall, my lord, I had met several such people near Prussia when I was much younger. Few understood their manners or the curiously long queue of hair that fell from the top of his head to nearly his middle like a horsetail. Yet his garments were regal, the fabrics rich, and even from the distance I could see the sparkle of golden embroidery.

  I shall admit to only you, my lord, that when they noticed me, I was afraid. We stared for a moment so long I felt my heartbeat against my bones. As is my vow, I sought out a possible disciple to bring into your flock. When I walked toward them I heard soft murmuring atween the odd pair, but could not understand the language. I was nearly abreast of them when the tallest with light hair shouted at something over his shoulder. From the forest stepped a woman. A beauty. You did well, my lord. She is lithe and graceful, almost floating over the land. Her escorts parted and she beckoned me closer.

  I will confess, as you already know what occurred, my lord, I feared her as well.

  Olivia tried to imagine this fabled woman with hair that swept the ground. She read on, the monk’s observations wonderfully descriptive and even kind to the woman and her entourage. The monk had visited her twice more before he saw her in the mountains and followed her, the sneaky man. She tried to imagine his life then, his daily toil. He wrote of the mundane duties, the final rites he’d given, and his duties of preparing the dead for burial. Pretty glum, she thought. Bet that princess was as exciting as it got.

  She flipped past the list of duties, the blessing of a child to one of his flock, and searched for a mention of the murders. The date was a month later.

  Whilst the unusual reunite has made no trouble, nor asked aught of the villagers, they live still in the ruins, as if waiting for something. The rash of crimes against many has brought the Maguire and this woman to a heated battle of words. He lays the blame with her. She is bold, her captivity with the Norsemen obviously having an ill effect. She spares no words. Most especially for the Maguire.

  Ahh, there was a romance waiting to happen, she thought.

  My sin is that in indulging my curiosity to visit with this pagan female, I have witnessed the most unusual and quite extraordinary events. I am still feeling the tremors in my hands as I pen this. I cannot understand my own reasons for following the woman again, but I feel commanded to learn what she and her odd family are about. Why have they come?

  I observed the woman they call simply Cat kneel on the ground, I thought in prayer, but then she began digging in the dirt. For a time she used the blade she always carried, but she was patient, at one point, she removed her cloak and turned back her sleeves. She would allow none to assist her. The ground had been churned. By animals, I suspect. Several paces behind her, the Viking stood, his sword piercing the ground. It was coated with blood. He did not watch her dig but studied the forest surrounding us all.

  Then from the earth, she pulled a knot of fabrics, and with her reunite of protection she returned to the campsite. Most especially, her adopted father. I cannot fathom any man, English or Irish, besting the Norseman, Jal, in battle. I have yet to see a soul confront him and I admit, my lord, I feared they knew I observed them and kept further back than I was wont. I do remember feeling suddenly refreshed and stronger for I returned near the campsite afore they arrived. This day was full of moments I do not understand. She crossed to the fire that never seemed to die and unwrapped the cloth, layer by layer. Her lips moved in a silent prayer to her deity. She lifted out a round green object large enough that she gripped it with both hands.

  I neared for a better look, aye, when I chose to disobey the laws of God, I am wont to excel. It was fortunate then, for she held the object higher, nearer the fire’s light. I confess my breath escaped when I understood ’twas in the shape of a human head, yet green. ’Tis cut from a stone, I have decided, for I have seen gems in the Holy City with that soft, milky hue. The lady placed it carefully on the remains of the old well. Then I heard her speak.

  For the protection of these people or the man who leads them, grant me the power. She raised her arms and spoke to the heavens in a language I’d heard a village elder once use. Imagine my surprise when the lady’s delicate hands glowed with long tips of blue fire. Aye, my lord, fire. Thrice, she circled the stone, repeating those words, then stopped and threw her hands toward it. The light grew suddenly blinding and not even my fears, they were surmountable I assure you, nay, not even that could make me look away. She had cut it in half. I do not question what I have seen with my own eyes this day. Without sword or mace, the woman severed the stone cleanly. I know, for I saw the two halves fall to the ground. My legs could no longer hold me and I fell like those stone halves and remained so until I no longer felt I might expire. I swear to you my lord God in Heaven, I speak only the truths I have seen. It was incredible to witness and I will keep my own counsel. To speak of this to anyone is heresy, aye, but to know such power exists has certainly altered my perception of all things. Aye, my lord, including you. I understand You gave such a wondrous talent to this woman for her life has not been joyous since she was stolen as a slave. All she loved has forsaken her again.

  She wrapped each piece of stone in the fabrics whilst chanting to her Goddess and bound it with chains. Then she handed one to her adopted father, Jal, the other to the small man from the East. Both men secured them into their baggage, then turned back to the woman. From her satchels, she drew a long strip of dark blue cloth. The dye alone was costly, yet I recognized this piece. She had worked her needle on it and
the silver thread shone. She placed it around the neck of Zhu, the leader of the eastern men. He did not kiss her, nor embrace her, but dropped to his knee and bowed. She touched his dark head, and he rose and turned away. The woman sobbed quietly as the others bid her farewell, then walked the path to the sea and their ships. Only the Viking remained. His immense stature was now hunched with the burden of his loss of the woman he loved as his daughter. She touched his face, kissed his cheek, and then from her girdle, offered him a scrap of a tartan no larger than her hand. He took it, kissed it once before tucking it beneath his garment and breastplate. Then he wrapped her in his arms. His furs obscured her face, yet the pain was clear on his own. My heart ached for them.

  Olivia sniffled and searched her pockets for a tissue, and was about to use her damn sleeve before she found one. She blotted her eyes and wiped her nose, feeling sad for Cat. To be so alone.

  The lady stepped back and I heard Jal asked her, Where shall I hide them, my sweet? To which she responded, You must choose for I am well tired of this rock and would leave it on the ocean floor. Travel south as far as you dare. Find a land with no people and place it back into the earth. Keep your vow, speak of it to no one. He nodded his accord, his eyes cool as he looked her over from head to the tip of her boot, then turned away. She remained there, watching the Viking leap into the boat and shout orders to the scurry of Zhu’s men. She did not leave until they were a smear on the horizon, then turned back to her fire, sitting on the rock and warming her hands. She was alone now. Without friends or loved ones. Why did she not leave with them?

  Come, Monk, she said to me rather loudly. You linger like a thief and I know you are not. I was shamed for intruding on her privacy and she beckoned me again, more gently. I stepped from behind the tree and walked to her. She gestured to the fallen log and I perched opposite from her. What was that? I asked.

  Know that the stone is the reason the wolves have changed. I shoulder the blame, for I am the one who brought it to Ireland, and with my own hands, I buried it in the mountain. I have taken it back. She stared at me over long. Aye. Curious, eh? It has a humming that calls to the living.