“Travelers are rare up here. And we rarely go beyond the valley, and never to the Badlands.”
Robinson nodded, but he thought Wapasha was hiding something.
They spoke for hours. Some of Wapasha’s children brought craftwork for them to see, including pottery, parfleche bags, and quill boxes made from porcupines. When the sun went down, they watched a traditional dance ceremony take place around a fire.
As Robinson and Friday settled into their tipi for the night, they agreed to ask Wapasha about the city again in the morning. But late that night, Wapasha came into their tipi.
“Wake up!” Wapasha whispered urgently. “Three men ride this way on horse and bison. But leading them are beasts I cannot name.”
“It’s Saah,” Robinson said to Friday, who immediately began gathering their things. “How far out are they?’
“Three miles, coming quickly.”
“We thought we’d lost them. I’m sorry. We’ve put your people in danger.”
“Go then. My son brought you a horse.”
“What will you do?” Friday asked.
“The Lakota were once fierce warriors too.” Wapasha cast a glance at his son. “But in this case, hiding in the old caves seems like the best option. Ride east of here on the old road, then turn north. After sixteen miles, you will see another mountain with the faces of three white men. Ride east from there. By morning, if you are lucky, you will reach the Badlands. There, you will find your city.”
“So you have heard of it,” Robinson said.
Wapasha nodded warily. “Over the years, many have entered the Badlands in search of it only to never be seen again. Are you sure you must go there?”
Robinson nodded.
“Then I will pray for you both.”
As Wapasha turned, Robinson called out, and the Indian wavered. “Thank you. And I’m sorry we troubled you.”
“The name Lakota once meant ‘friends, allies.’ To become what we once were, we must truly embrace the old ways.” And then he grinned. “Even if it is with white men.”
Wapasha winked and left. Robinson took the reins of the roan the boy had given him, mounted it with Friday and rode away.
They followed the directions Wapasha had given them. Robinson expected the horse to tire quickly, but it was hardy and responded eagerly to their demands. Friday labored to hold on. Robinson whispered encouragements.
After a short time, the riders arrived at a moderate vale where they saw, lit by moonlight, the three-faced mountain Wapasha had mentioned. A blank section of the carving suggested there was once a fourth face in the mix. Robinson spurred the horse on, the mountains turning into dry prairie land marked with sporadic foothills.
Several hours passed before they stopped to rest at a small watering hole at the foot of a rocky bluff. The horse drank greedily.
“Do you know where we go from here?” Friday asked.
“Not exactly,” Robinson said. “The photos Joule showed me were aerials. If I could see the topography better or even the old roads, I could probably navigate the area better. But—”
He never had a chance to finish the sentence. The familiar bellow they’d been waiting for finally arrived. The pack was on their scent. The hunt was on.
They mounted the horse quickly and rode off together as fast as the horse would carry them. The terrain soon became difficult and rigid. They saw silhouettes of eroded spires and squat buttes emerge and were soon winding their way through low gorges that felt like they’d entered the throat of some ancient beast.
As the howls echoed over the byzantine gulches, the sky in the east began to lighten, and Robinson, desperate, thought he saw an old broken boardwalk in the middle of nowhere that looked familiar. He spurred the horse across the trail, reining it in soon afterward when they came to a sign standing alone in the center of the field. A breathless Friday could just make out the symbols of a cross and bones that she’d come to understand was a warning.
“What does it say?” Friday spat.
“This is private land. Trespassers will be executed.”
The warning was overshadowed by a snarl behind them. Both Robinson and Friday whipped their heads around to see one of the pack standing atop a bluff behind them.
“Go! Go!” Friday shouted.
Robinson didn’t hesitate. And when the warbling sound of pipes filled the air, neither did the creature as it leaped off the bluff in mad pursuit.
Chapter Thirty
Birds
They raced past the sign and over a quick embankment that led to an arroyo with steep canyon walls. The horse had recognized the sound of predators and responded by galloping faster. Robinson heard claws on the rocks behind them and felt Friday pull his pistol and fire back, the shots sailing wide but lighting the canyon like a lightning strike. The horse yipped and kicked into its final gear as it plunged deeper into the arroyo.
Friday struggled to hold onto Robinson and fire at the same time. Echoing through the box canyon were the discordant tones of the pipes, which drove the creatures to either side of the arroyo as it opened into a mesa, the marigold sun cresting a ridge in the distance, the tips of trees wavering from a lower plateau beyond.
Saah’s beasts steamed forward like a pack of ravenous wolves, their inhuman snarls piercing the dust, blanking out everything but the sounds of the horse’s hooves and Friday’s heavy breath in Robinson’s ear.
Pistol reports cracked, and Friday fired again and again. When one of creatures went down, two more quickly took its place. Robinson heard one of them closing in from his left. He desperately hoped they could reach the ridge in time.
Then out of nowhere something whipped by them overhead. It was smooth and dark, but it was thrumming with power, its engine making the air vibrate, blinding Robinson with the trail of dust in its wake. A low revving sound quickly transitioned into a blast, and one of the creatures yelped as it was launched backward, tumbling end over end before it fell in a heap.
The creature’s packmates hesitated, losing a step before they snarled in anger and redoubled their efforts to catch their quarry before this new foe could stop them. Robinson and Friday heard the change in the sound of the pipes, which seemed itself more discordant, more desperate. The beasts howled madly, their gnashing teeth chomping at the air as they rushed to bring down the horse.
Two more objects flit by in the half-light. Robinson looked over his shoulder to see the air wavering behind them before both bucked under detonations that sent circular blue waves of light barreling forward at their targets. This time, one of the beasts flew high into the air while another had its flesh torn apart on impact.
“What are they?” Friday shouted.
Robinson racked his brain for the word. “Drones, I think they’re called. Joule said the city had defenses. These appear to be it.”
“So, we are close?”
“I hope so.”
“Why aren’t they attacking us?”
“I’ll bring it up if they circle back.”
Friday hit his back.
A fourth orbicular machine burst by the at an impossible speed, rising high into the air as it fired off three short blasts. Dirt exploded upward, forcing the creatures to splay out, running to evade instead of attack. The drones broke up to chase the creatures individually. Robinson looked back and called out.
Robinson pulled the reins taut, and the frothing roan wheeled around in time to make three other figures at the mouth of the arroyo. Robinson could barely make them out, but they looked like two riders atop horses and one on a large bison. When the rider of the bison turned, Robinson saw the shimmer of his mask.
“Saah!” he shouted.
The riders had been in pursuit as well, but they now turned astride as one of the drones honed in on them. Robinson and Friday watched as the drone swooped up and fired one of its blows, striking the rocky footing where Saah’s party had stopped. It looked like a direct hit, but through the raining dust, Robinson thought he saw the figures tr
ailing away.
The other drones were in heated pursuit of the creatures, which were now scrambling for escape. Drone fire lit the canyon walls. At least one of the beasts howled as it was hit.
“Keep going,” Friday yelled.
Robinson didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed the roan to a canter as they neared the final ridge and the forest beyond.
The image was disconcerting at first. A vale of trees covered in mist splayed out in front of them, dark and green and lush. The trees towered above them but seemed unnatural in the barren land. Robinson tried to see deeper in the forest, but the mist seemed to set thicker at its heart. Once again, Robinson was confused.
“Where is the city?” Friday asked.
Robinson felt the gnawing of doubt again.
“Farther in maybe. We’ll need to head down for a closer look.”
“What of those machines?”
“Let’s hope Saah’s pack keeps them busy for a while.”
Robinson scanned the area and saw a narrow, winding path that ran along the inner wall of the vale. It was dangerously narrow.
“We’ll have to go on foot. I’ll lead the horse. You stay a few feet behind me.”
Friday slipped off the roan and handed Robinson his pistol. An echoing shot of drone fire turned their heads before they started their way down.
The rocky path clung tightly to the coarse walls. The footing was uneven, the edge close, but no one stopped. Even the horse, who whinnied several times, kept moving forward, willing to brave this danger to avoid the danger behind them.
Soon the path descended and darkened. The sliver of sun hadn’t yet cracked the vale, and the mist appeared to roll right up to the edge of the cliff. It felt unnatural. Robinson looked over the side. All he could see were trees funneling down into the smoky mire. At that moment, Robinson’s boot slipped across a moss-covered rock, and he stumbled toward the edge. Friday was there to grab him and pull him back.
“Thanks,” he said despite her disapproving look.
The path continued to wind down at a mild gradient, but it was still precarious. It looked as if no one had traveled it in a very long time. Rocks had spilled across it in several places, forcing Friday to kick them off to clear the path.
After a spell, Friday came upon an inlet in the mountain that appeared to be manmade. Robinson tried to draw the horse toward it, but it reared back skittishly.
“Let me,” Friday said.
She slipped by Robinson and stroked the horse’s forehead before whispering into its ear. Tension seemed to flood out of the horse, and within a minute, it followed her under the overhang.
The inlet’s ceiling was about seven feet high, giving Robinson, Friday, and the horse plenty of room to walk. It receded ten paces or so into the wall and had a second outlet on the other side. Strewn about the area were piles of refuse made up of old travelers’ gear. Backpacks and bedrolls. A few scattered weapons. Scattered clothes. People had reached this place, but not in a long time.
Friday sat down on a rock as the roan drank from a pool on the ground.
“Sit,” Friday said. “You need rest.”
Robinson nodded absently and remained standing. Something was bothering him. Friday could see it.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Something about this bother you?”
She looked around. “What do you mean?”
“Obviously people have been here, but not in a long time. And look around. What’s missing?”
Friday looked. “Fires,” she said. Robinson nodded. “Maybe they moved on.”
“And left all their gear behind?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m starting to think we made a mistake coming here.”
Just as he said it, they heard the thrum of a drone approaching. Friday stood, reaching for Robinson’s hand, as two drones slowly descended from above. The machines hovered there, as if assessing their targets. Then, reticles appeared on both Robinson and Friday’s chests as the machines revved to fire.
Chapter Thirty-One
One Step Back
Saah groaned as his horse scaled the path, each jarring step sending fire up through his body. Once they reached a small plateau, Viktor dismounted and rushed to his side.
“Let me see the wound,” Viktor said.
Saah removed his hand. The side of his shirt was torn and singed. His ribs had been badly burned, though there was little blood.
“It looks like whatever hit you simultaneously cauterized the wound. I can make a salve, but it won’t help with the pain.”
Saah waved him away as he gingerly got off his mount. He turned to Cassa.
“The pack?”
Cassa shook his head.
All dead. What a waste.
Saah took out his canteen and poured water on the wound. He grimaced but didn’t cry out. Viktor shuffled nervously. Saah knew the man expected him to rage at losing the boy once again, but he was surprisingly accepting of this new situation. His time inside the construct had given him a fresh perspective on what his future might hold, and he was beginning to suspect it might start here.
Saah took out his binoculars and looked back on the ridge. Even with sun above the horizon, the mysterious place beyond remained hidden by mist.
“You’re not thinking of going back, are you?” Viktor stuttered.
Saah looked at the man and sneered. He’d known few men as cowardly in his time. But Viktor had other gifts he couldn’t do without.
“No,” Saah said. “This place is beyond us. Whoever commands those orbs has technology we are not prepared to face.”
“And Crusoe and the girl?”
Saah considered how the orbs had passed the pair and targeted his pack instead. Maybe the drones viewed the teens as soft targets and set out to remove the more dangerous threats first. Then again, Crusoe had spent the better part of a year working his way here. He didn’t think the boy would risk his life—or the girl’s—unless he had some vague understanding of what laid beyond.
“He’s lost to us now. But our friend has an uncanny gift for getting in and out of extraordinary situations. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were to see him again.”
“So, we’re leaving?” Viktor asked failing to hide his relief.
“We are, but Cassa will stay behind.”
Cassa appeared neither surprised or troubled. The master walked to him.
“If this place is what Crusoe thinks it is, then perhaps it would behoove us to take a closer look. I want you to assess its borders. Study its defenses. See if you can find a way inside. But don’t put yourself at risk. Viktor and I will head back to the farm. If we’re not back in a month’s time, you are to return on your own.”
Cassa nodded. Then Saah and Viktor mounted their horses and rode off.
Cassa waited until Viktor and the Master had vanished before he took off his helmet and let the sun warm his skin. It was chafed from riding, so he poured water over it and let it dry in the air.
Cassa was tired. He hadn’t seen the point in riding the boy down, not after Saah had returned from the underground place. Something in him had changed there. He began to speak of the future. His hunger for killing the boy hadn’t waned exactly, but it had been tempered. The fire that drove him now seemed channeled down a new path. Cassa wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
For the first time in a long time, Cassa questioned what he was doing with his life. He knew the debt he owed the Master, but he grew tired of this endless pursuit. He hated the boy for what he represented, but he feared if things didn’t come to a resolution soon, he might succumb to the same madness that had taken hold of the Master.
Then again, he had no family to speak of. No one he belonged to. Once, he had a girl in his life, but now she too was dead. If he were to stake out on his own, where would he go? What would he do? As pathetic as it sounded, he needed something to drive him. But how long could he subsist on someone else’s path?
As Cassa donned h
is mask, he’d already begun planning his immediate future. First, he would need to feed and water Bull. Afterward, he would begin testing the perimeter of the valley as the Master had ordered. The flying orbs were a concern. He could not risk attracting them and hope to survive. He would need to learn more about them. Only then would he know how to defeat them.
Saah needed to get Viktor back to the farm to start on his latest endeavor. Winter was barely two months away, and if his new plan had any chance of working, they needed to return before the first snow. The ride would be tough, both with his injury and the precautions they would need to cross the Midwest without Cassa and the pack to ward off attackers. Viktor would be little use if such an attack came, but Saah could take care of himself. He’d done it all his life.
As they crossed back into the prairielands, Saah began to contemplate his mistakes. He made a few—the biggest was putting too much emphasis on the boy. He owed young Ser Crusoe a debt—there was no questioning that—and yet, his myopic pursuit had cost him significantly. His insistence to rush headlong into every situation ran contrary to the philosophy that once led him to the height of power on Isle Prime. If he were to realize his true goal, he needed to think bigger and bolder and plan ahead. The time for reactionary moves was over. From here on out, he would be the one to dictate the action.
It all boiled down to the construct. She had offered him an army in exchange for returning Crusoe to her. He agreed, of course; he would have said anything to facilitate his freedom. But it was only after reaching the Badlands that he had realized the construct’s mistake. She believed man needed ruling, and that was true enough. But to achieve true greatness, the source of that rule could not be a computer or a democracy, but one with singular vision. The Romans. The Han Dynasty. The Persians, the Ottomans, the Russians, and the Mongols. Each grew to exorbitant power, and each began and flourished under the authority of a single man. If the new world was to return its previous heights, it would need one such man to lead it. And Vardan Saah was that man.
First, he would need might. And not the might that came at the push of the button or a rallying cry—but the might at the end of a sword. And not a blunt sword. His sword must be able to cut down his enemies in a single swath. To do that, he wouldn’t need Joule or her pact, he would need the secrets of the City of Glass. And to rob both those ancient houses of their secrets and power, he needed the man seated next to him.
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