by Mark Gardner
Putting on a thick down jacket, Peter walked the perimeter of his cabin. Any loose rocks, branches or large piles of snow were removed. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he returned to the cabin for lunch.
More chores followed lunch, and as Peter prepared for bed, he retrieved a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels.
Satisfied his bed was arranged correctly, Peter tossed kindling and a newspaper-wrapped log into his fireplace. After administering the fixed amount of dish soap to his bowl, he closed the cap on the soap and smiled at the audible click echoing off the tall roof.
The dwindling pile of newspapers was reduced once again. Peter held an issue of The Moscow Times under his arm as he walked to his imposing wall of books for a Russian to English dictionary. Thursday, he thought to himself. He looked at his Russian dictionary and smiled before declaring to the cabin, “Chetverg.” He closed his eyes and listened to the echo of his poor Russian. He forced himself still, he counted five breaths, but they didn’t calm him. With a great sigh of consternation, he spoke the word he knew he needed to say. “Thursday.” The resounding echo put him at ease, and he continues with his daily routine.
After securing the area around his cabin, Peter ate the same lunch he had the previous day. Bundling up again, he stepped through his front door. Retrieving his ax, he walked to the tree line and selected the growth to fuel his fireplace for the next week.
As he had the days prior, Peter sat on his bed feeling the heft of the bottle of Jack Daniels. He stroked his scraggly gray beard and fussed with his lengthening hair. Almost time for a haircut, he thought staring at the calendar on the wall. He poured his nightly drink and shook the bottle. Peter was unhappy with the sound of the liquid swishing in the bottle. He poured a small amount of the dark amber back into the bottle and shook it again. He smiled and reached to place the bottle on a shelf next to the bed. When his initial attempt failed, he squeezed his eyes closed and repeated the action - this time he was successful.
One... Sheet three inches from the pillow, quarter fold.
Two... Peter pinched two blankets together at the corner and aligned them with the hem of the sheet.
Three... He smoothed wrinkles out of the blankets.
Four... He tugged a down comforter over the blankets and ensured it remained tucked into the space between the bed and the frame.
Five... He arranged animal furs with equal precision and care.
Peter performed his daily routine, preparing, eating and cleaning up his breakfast. Each element’s five discreet steps fulfilled before moving on to the next.
He picked up the last newspaper and performed the five steps required to dispose of the twine. This portion of his routine ended with the audible “Friday.” After hearing five distinct echoes, he got to work reading and cross-referencing five days of The Rio Times. He was glad the English-language paper didn’t require his battered Spanish to English dictionary.
Peter grilled five ounces of venison on a collapsible grill in his fireplace. He tapped the five-tined fork five times on his temple while waiting for his food to cook. After his dishes had been cleaned, Peter opened and closed the front door five times to alleviate the cooking smells in the cabin.
Five minutes before he pulled back five layers of bedding, he filled his five-ounce tumbler from the fifth bottle of the week. He tapped the bottle five times against the glass to get any remaining liquid.
Within five minutes of closing his eyes, Peter was asleep.
Peter awoke in his cabin. He preferred the desolation and the rugged living that the Canadian wilderness provided. It wasn’t just the desolation he desired, but the anonymity the vast frontier offered.
Peter climbed out of his bed and ignored the layers of blankets and animal furs. His fireplace was burnt down to embers, but a handful of tinder coaxed a flame from the red coals. He ate his bowl of cereal and milk at the only table he owned. When he finished, he tossed his spoon and bowl into the sink.
He looked at the calendar on the wall. “Saturday,” he said out loud. His voice echoed from the tall roof. Ignoring the echo, he stepped out on his porch. He scanned the skies with a pair of binoculars. The clear Canadian air allowed him to see for miles. Satisfied no one was watching, his breath permeated as he said, “It’s time to go into town for supplies.”
Peter stood across the street from the Canada Post. To call it a street was giving it more credit than it deserved. He walked to the door and stepped inside.
“Have you got my supplies, James?” Peter called out as he closed the door. He turned around, and James was nowhere to be seen. Standing behind the counter was a woman. Peter had never seen this woman before.
“Are you Peter?” she asked apprehensively.
Peter nodded, mute and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“I’ve got a bundle of newspapers for you.” She reached under the counter, and Peter tensed every muscle in his body.
The woman dropped a bundle of newspapers secured with twine. “James left me with very specific instructions on how to prepare these. I hope it’s up to your standards.”
Peter stepped up to the counter and placed a hand on the bundle. He was about to respond when he spotted a dirty hat on the floor. The hat was off white with an American flag stitched onto it. A Canadian flag sticker covered the stitching and was peeling at one corner.
“Where is James?” Peter stammered.
“He’s on vacation. I’m filling in for him.”
“He would never leave his hat.” Peter accused, pointing to the discarded item. “What have you done with him?”
“Nothing.” She took a step back from the counter. “You’re making me uncomfortable.”
Peter slammed his hands down on the counter. “Who are you?”
“I... I’m not..” She squared her shoulders and continued. “If you don’t leave immediately, I’ll call the R-C-M-P.”
Peter ran to the door. “You’ll never take me alive!” he screamed before throwing open the door and running down the street and disappearing into the Canadian wilderness.
The Jade Palace
“After you,” Anne said as she motioned to Joaquin with her free hand while holding the door open.
“Don’t men usually open the door for the ladies?” he asked.
Anne laughed. “I’m far too old for something as new as chivalry.”
Joaquin’s eyes narrowed. “How old are you?”
“Chivalrous about doors, but not about asking a woman her age?”
Joaquin didn’t reply.
She smiled. “How old do you think I am?
More squinting from Joaquin, followed by, “Early thirties?”
“You’re sweet.” Anna patted him on the cheek and closed the door behind them.
“So, ya gonna tell me or what?”
Anne smiled and motioned toward an open door. “Wait in there.”
Joaquin walked through the door and paused at what he saw. There was a little blonde girl with a pink bow in her hair, a pink fur stole, and a pink dress sitting perfectly still. Beside her sat an older woman wearing a blouse with pink, red and orange circles and an orange skirt. To Joaquin, it looked like a grass skirt he had seen on hula dancers. Next was a man dressed in a suit out of the seventies in hideous oranges and pinks to match. They all sat perfectly still – Joaquin couldn’t tell if they were breathing.
The entire scene was eerie. More so, one of the walls had several drawings of a cabin in the woods. The renderings were obviously done by a child and reflected different attempts at artistic style. Some featured stick figures with the cabin, and in some, the cabin was scribbled over with oranges and reds.
Joaquin turned and leaned closer to examine the little girl and her blue eyes focused on him. The movement of her eyes startled him and he fell on his ass. The girl tilted her head to regard Joaquin and asked, “Are you here to play with me and my kitty?”
Joaquin looked to the lady and noticed a tear glistening in the harsh light o
f the room. The light was so strong the dark shadow of the woman and girl contrasted against the pale green wall paint.
“What the hell you doin’ in here?”
Joaquin looked over his shoulder and saw Justin scowling in the hallway.
“Don’t look at me, dude. Keep your eye on Bree, the crazy little girl who can freeze your ass.”
Joaquin’s head snapped back to the little girl, and his eyes focused on her outstretched arm. He scrambled back on all fours and skittered out of the room. He reached up to thank Justin, but when he got close to Justin’s bare forearm, Justin jumped back.
“Whoa, dude!” He grabbed Joaquin’s arm with his gloved hand and helped him to his feet. “That girl can freeze you and make you her plaything, but I’ll age the shit outta you.”
Joaquin mumbled his thanks and cleared his throat before falling into step behind Justin. “D’ya know how old Anne is?”
Justin’s broad grin showed his perfect teeth. “Older than you think.”
“She said she knew Sunny Sue.”
Justin paused, mid-stride. “Huh?”
“The Art of War guy.”
Justin chuckled. “Sun Tzu. Yeah, I believe she did know him. I think he had impervious skin, like you.”
“But...” Joaquin stammered, “but that means she’s really old!”
“Yeah her lineage is one of the oldest. If she dies, she takes the life force of someone close to her and is revived. Both the legends of the vampire and the Phoenix are derived from her bloodline.”
“How old are you?”
“Me? I’m thirty-seven. You?”
Joaquin squared his shoulders and thrust his chest out. “Seventeen.”
“Good for you!” Justin exclaimed. “I can die just like any other man. My lineage can be verifiably traced back to King Midas and further.” Justin paused again. “Hers is a much-coveted lineage. You’d be wise not to ask too many questions.” Justin stopped and placed his gloved hand on Joaquin’s chest. “If anyone tells you to ask her about her time as Domenico Ghirlandaio’s assistant, don’t. It’s a trap.”
Joaquin stared blankly.
“The Cappella Magna?”
No response from Joaquin.
“Where the Pope lives?”
Joaquin’s eyes showed a sliver of realization. “The sixteen chapel?”
Justin rolled his eyes. “Yes, the Sistine Chapel.”
“Bitch! I don’ need you bustin’ my balls.” Joaquin slapped Justin’s forearm away with his hand. As soon as his fingers touched Justin’s bare arm, Joaquin let out a shriek and fell to the ground.
Justin stood over the writhing Joaquin. When it appeared Joaquin’s pain subsided, Justin leaned down and whispered. “You’re not in the projects anymore, boy.”
After Joaquin rose to his feet, Justin continued in a regular voice. “There are dangers in this world that try a man’s soul. You’re used to dealing with guns and purse snatchers.”
Joaquin scowled.
“Heed my words, boy. Heed them well: People like Anne are who really control this world. The ‘one percent’ people go on and on about? Mere puppets. She fought against Genghis Khan in the gene wars. She helped rewrite the history books when our people went into hiding. Every cover up, every urban legend and everyone here cedes their authority when she’s here.” Justin straightened Joaquin’s shirt with his gloved hands. “You just lost four years of your life by touching me. You better learn real quick your proper place, or you’ll end up dead.”
Joaquin’s face turned red. “You threatening me?”
Justin scoffed. “Threaten? You apparently didn’t learn anything from only minutes ago.” Justin pulled his glove off and stepped closer to Joaquin.
“Boys!”
The two spun and saw Anne standing with her hands on her hips. Her furrowed brow and clenched teeth indicated what she thought of their little tussle. She walked up and kissed Justin on the cheek. “Run along, now,” she whispered.
“Damn it! I hate it when you do that!” Justin sputtered indignantly before turning and doing his best to stride confidently down the hall.
Anne smiled. “Now that you two have measured your dicks, we can get on with business.”
“What business you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“Why the family business, of course.” Anne opened a door and motioned inside. “Have a seat in my office.”
She sat in a comfortable chair and Joaquin stood by a matching chair on his side of the ornate desk.
“Please sit,” Anne cooed.
Joaquin regarded the chair but didn’t move.
“Sit down, now!” Anne said through clenched teeth. Her face softened as Joaquin complied. “We need to have a little chat about history.”
“I ain’t got time for no history lessons!”
“You’ll want to hear this, Joaquin.”
Joaquin snorted and rolled his eyes, ever the petulant child. “How come you figure that?”
“Because it’s part of your own history too.” Anne clasped her palms together as if in a sign of praying and gently touched her lips with the tips of her fingers. “You want to know your own history, don’t you?” She could see she had Joaquin’s attention; he shifted in his chair as if it weren’t designed for comfort.
“All right,” he said after a few moments, “I’m listening.”
Anne smiled.
“It began with a man history named Genghis Khan.” She waited for Joaquin to challenge her. “Back then he went by Temüjin.”
“Temüjin?”
“I’m Temüjin.”
“Come with us, Sir.”
Temüjin sized up the two women who had come to take him to learn his fate.
“Don’t even try it,” the shorter of the two women declared. “I’ve got the strength gene and Qing has the vision gene.”
“So you’re telling me,” Temüjin replied, voice dripping with scorn, “I need to blind her, and what? What is the antithesis of super strength?”
Qing replied. “He’s bluffing, Ling. The pulse in his carotid artery isn’t increasing.”
Ling retorted, “As if a freak like him could do anything if he so desired.”
Qing laughed. “Be careful, Ling, his pulse is up. Perhaps he really does have a power.” She paused for effect. “The power to get angry!”
Ling and Qing grasped the fuming Temüjin firmly by the arms and led him to the Jade Palace.
“What happened to him?”
Anne startled at Joaquin’s sudden interruption. Her thoughts had wandered to the event almost eight hundred years prior. Joaquin stared, unsure where the story was leading.
“Temüjin’s immediate fate was inconsequential,” Anne replied. “He and I would meet many times.”
“We must keep our bloodline clean!” Anne pounded her dais to emphasize her point. “We mustn’t allow these fr...” She paused and contemplated what she was about to say. “Defects to dilute our million-year-old ancestry.”
“Mistress,” a court council interrupted. “Temüjin has already established that those without an activated gene are quite capable and have the ability to become contributing members of our illustrious society. We no longer need to ostracize them.”
“Temüjin Khan,” She spat the title Khan as if it left a foul taste in her mouth. “Temüjin Kahn is a nobody. He and his followers wish to make us all weak.” She brought her full attention to the councilor who interrupted her. “What does nature do to the weak?”
“Nature culls the weak and rewards the strong,” the councilor droned.
Anne crossed her arms as if the councilor had made her point.
“With all due respect, Mistress.” The councilor chose his next words carefully. “Since his banishment forty years ago, Temüjin has raised an army, united the nomad tribes and his lineage continues two generations.” He paused as if his next point would sway her. “Mistress, in another forty years his kind will match us in population. Forty years after that, his kind will outnumber
us four to one.”
Anne leaned forward and growled. “Then we’ll just exterminate them.”
Joaquin looked past Anne to a map covering the wall behind her chair. The edges had been scorched, and several pieces were torn away. It looked as if it had survived a catastrophe involving fire. Anne sat and watched Joaquin as he chewed through his thoughts – integrating the new information. Patience wasn’t always one of her virtues, but as she watched realization slowly move across Joaquin’s face, she appreciated the skill she acquired.
“Did you exterminate them?”
Anne leaned back. “Do you know anyone who doesn’t have a power?”
Joaquin nodded slowly.
“I know now if I had even tried, I would’ve been unsuccessful, but then...”
Joaquin leaned forward as the story continued.
“Then we’ll just exterminate them.”
A clamor echoed through the vast chamber of the Jade Palace. The cacophony of voices rose until all in attendance were shouting and in some areas more physical disagreements commenced.
“Order!” Anne banged her fist on the dais. “Order in the chamber!”
Slowly the hall quieted. Anne returned her attention to the councilor. “Speak your mind freely, councilor.”
“Mistress, you have headed this council for almost four hundred years.” He paused and licked his lips. “I would be remiss to see the day when your benevolent rule was summed up by mass genocide.”
“You can’t stop them now!” An anonymous shout from the chambers sounded. Anne stared out into the room and no additional quips followed.
“Mistress,” the councilor continued, “these defects may yet rule the world. It is simple mathematics. We just do not propagate as fast as they do. Temüjin and his followers are leading shorter lives with each subsequent generation. Non-defects are rallying to their cause. Temüjin practices tolerance and acceptance. They view you as the archetypical villain, a throwback to a millennia of oppressive rule.”
Anne searched the chamber for supporters. Many nodded in agreement with the councilor. I’ve lost this fight, she thought to herself. She looked to her adjunct and he nodded. “Fine!” She said and took a step back from the dais. “I renounce my position as head of the Jade Council.”