Fires of Man

by Dan Levinson

  “Hear me!” the robed man said. Aaron could understand him, and the voice was the same as the one that spoke in his mind. The same! “God has spoken to me, and in His infinite wisdom, He has decided to spare this world. All is safe, now. All is well! Return to your own lands, your homes, and give thanks!”

  The crowd began to mutter. They were . . . disappointed. The way the man spoke, it sounded as if they had been expecting the apocalypse. Instead, all they had gotten was a sharp chill that grew colder by the minute.

  At that moment, snow began to fall.

  The man in the robe turned away from the crowd then, allowing his cowl to fall back despite the chill. His hawk-like face had grown more haggard, his black hair long and unruly. He strode off in the direction of the massive stairway that led to the top of the plateau.

  Another man in a robe came up to meet the first, an older man with a beard. Aaron recognized him from the first of his strange dreams.

  “Are you certain this is right?” the bearded man demanded. He sounded on the verge of panic.

  “Be calm,” the younger man replied. “The world will not end today, after all.”

  “You had a duty,” the bearded man said. “To God, to the human race. A duty you refused to fulfill.”

  “God has marked me,” the younger man said. “If my choice be folly, I will know it.”

  “Too late for anything to be done.”

  “Perhaps. I can commune with this world no longer, true. No more do I feel the sky, nor the deep places of the earth, nor the pulse of any living thing. From this point on, the Will of God is not mine to realize. But fear not. If I have erred, another will come in my place and set things aright. This I have foreseen.”

  “How can you be certain they will not do as you have?” the older man asked.

  “Because I will be there to guide him,” the other, black-haired man said. “Now, my friend, I have one last thing to ask of you.”

  “What is it?” the bearded man asked.

  “Watch over this place,” the other man said. “Let your children and your children’s children guard it with their lives, until another with God’s blessing appears.”

  “What will you do?” the bearded man asked.

  “I will wander,” said the other man.

  Suddenly . . .

  His gaze snapped toward Aaron.

  Aaron awoke with a jerk; his seat belt was the only thing that kept him from toppling out of his seat. He looked around, befuddled, taking a moment to remember where he was.

  Tiberian was seated next to him again. “We’ll be landing soon,” the commander said. “I hope you slept well.”

  “Great,” Aaron lied. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide, but how could he hide from his dreams, from what lurked inside his own mind?

  For the second time, he thought of his dreams in the context of the Prophet El. The circumstances were so different from the stories he knew in the Prophist Bible. Yet everything fit.

  What was happening to him?

  He rubbed his temples. He really did feel like he was going crazy.

  He was so preoccupied, as they descended into Kodol, that not once did he worry that he was going to war.

  31

  FAITH

  Trapped on the verge of freedom, Faith did the only thing that was left to her: she yelled.

  She yelled until her throat burned. She yelled with all the strength she had.

  She heard footsteps above her.

  Faith screamed again, managing greater volume than before.

  Please, let someone hear her! She would have prayed if she thought it was worth an ounce of good.

  There was a muffled noise above. Faith continued shouting. She would shout until her vocal cords were ruined if it meant rescue. She heard the murmur of people talking.

  There was a click, a groan, and the stone slab swung outward.

  Assande’s face greeted her. “I told them a little fall wouldn’t kill you!”

  Strong hands gripped her and lifted her to freedom.

  As she emerged from the depths of the pyramid, cooler air washed over her—a blessed relief from the sauna-like heat. Soaked in sweat, she began shivering, but didn’t care.

  She saw that she had emerged in the room with the pillars and the mural on the floor. That mural now stood ajar, revealing the opening into the pyramid’s lower levels. Dabakian and Vassey were there waiting, as was George the grad student, and others. Before she knew it, she was being crushed by a tide of chattering people, talking over one another so she could not make out a word.

  “Water,” she wheezed. No one heard her. Her legs felt like jelly, but the press of bodies kept her on her feet. She met Assande’s eyes. He leaned in for her to speak. “Water.”

  Assande took action, pushing back the throng. “Someone toss me a water,” he shouted.

  The moment the others stepped away, Faith’s knees buckled. The room was a blur. The next thing she knew, she was being seated against the wall. Assande was beside her, proffering a bottle of mineral water. “You passed out for a second,” he said. “You okay?”

  “Dehydrated,” she said.

  “I know,” he said.

  He began to lift the water to her lips, but Faith took it from him. She wasn’t a baby, and didn’t need to be treated like one.

  Her arms felt weak and her hands tingled, but she managed to take a drink. Before she knew it, she was guzzling the entire bottle. Rivulets of water ran down her chin. When she was finished, Assande took the empty bottle and passed her a second one, which she sipped. Her entire experience underground felt like a fever dream, hazy indistinct. She was still woozy, and when she attempted to stand, a firm pressure from Assande’s hand stopped her.

  She settled back against the wall. She couldn’t say how long she waited there, but eventually the nausea and dizziness and pervasive pins and needles began to fade.

  Faith tried to rise again. Once more Assande attempted to restrain her. She laid a hand on his wrist. “I’m fine,” she said.

  Much as she knew she needed to rest, there was too much on her mind for her to sit still. Organizing a party to delve into the lower levels could wait until tomorrow. For now, she needed to go to Cha’a’ni. And . . .

  Durban. How had she forgotten him, the son of a bitch? “Where’s Durban?”

  “He’s . . .” Assande looked around, surveying the crowd. “He was here a minute ago, before we pulled you out.”

  Faith bulled forward, then had to brace herself against the wall from the resulting head rush. Fury infused her. “Why is he still running around?” she demanded.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Didn’t anyone see the video feed?”

  “It went to static as soon as you two went through that door,” Assande said.

  “Shit.”

  “He said he tried to—”

  “That bastard,” Faith said. “That weasel bastard. When I find him I’ll—”

  “Calm down,” Assande said. He put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re shaking.”

  She shoved Assande off. “He tried to murder me, Felix,” she hissed. “He tried to fucking kill me!”

  Assande stared at her for a moment. Then he turned and shouted, “Has anyone seen Paul Durban? Anyone? If you do, don’t let him out of your sight!” He turned to Faith and offered her an arm. “Come on.”

  Everyone exited the pyramid in a rush. Faith steadied herself on Assande’s forearm until she felt strong enough to walk on her own. Compared to the gloom of the megalith’s interior, the light in the excavation tent was blinding. Still, she was glad to be out of the dark, away from the dust and must, away from enclosed spaces that had filled her nostrils with the cloying scent of her own perspiration.

  She used Assande’s arm again to descend the plateau steps. She hurried to her cubby and threw on her jacket and gloves, hat and scarf, and snow boots.

  Outside, it was snowing. Bitter winds whipped the soft white particle
s into stinging flurries that bit at the uncovered skin around Faith’s eyes.

  Where to go?

  Durban was a coward. He would probably try to escape in a snowmobile or one of the supply trucks.

  But he wouldn’t leave without his research.

  Durban’s quarters were in the site’s small base, so Faith pressed through the snow, which was now halfway up her shins. She went past the circles of tents owned by members of the dig, and then the campsite of the Galuak, which lay abandoned. The tribe was gathered around Cha’a’ni’s hut, meaning the chieftain was probably alive. Faith yearned to see him, but she knew Durban would disappear if she didn’t find him quickly.

  At last, the low dome and plain gray walls of the arctic base came into view. It was the size of an average apartment building, and surrounded by chain-link fence. She walked past the fence and shoved open the double doors, sending swirls of snow into the drab interior, with its slate-colored walls and chalky blue floor tiles. Assande followed at Faith’s heels, closing the door behind them.

  Faith stalked up to the front desk, where a balding man named Rogers was on duty—part security guard, part superintendent.

  “Have you seen Paul Durban?” she asked.

  “Yeah, uh, he just came through a few—”

  “I want him taken into custody,” she said.

  “For what?” Rogers asked.

  “Attempted murder.”

  For a few seconds, Rogers regarded her as if she must be joking. Faith glared stonily back at him, and it eventually dawned on him that she was completely serious.

  He scrambled for his radio.

  “Marv, this is Craig. If you see Paul Durban, I need you to apprehend him on sight. Apprehend on sight, Marv.”

  The response came in. “Copy.”

  Rogers stepped out from behind the desk and led the way down a corridor toward the dormitory wing, Faith and Assande behind him. Handcuffs rattled on Rogers’s belt. Faith thought about seeing those cuffs slapped on Durban. She would enjoy the hell out of that.

  Down the hall from Durban’s room, Faith heard the rattle of items being packed away, and then the loud zip of a zipper, amplified by the building’s acoustics. In his rush, Durban hadn’t even bothered to close his door. Rogers motioned for her and Assande to stay back.

  Faith would have none of it. She blew past Rogers at a near-run, evading his grasp as he tried to restrain her.

  She found Durban standing over a duffel bag in his tiny room, holding up a large ruby he must have pried from the gold door when no one was looking. She hadn’t thought it possible to be even angrier, but such blatant desecration further stoked her fury. He looked up and saw her then; his eyes went wide behind his glasses. The shock lasted only a second, however, and then his face pulled into a sneer.

  She lost it.

  In that moment, his awful expression evoked the vile words he had said to her, words she had all but forgotten during her ordeal. Now it came rushing back to her—that vicious tide, so full of spite. Suddenly, she was flying at him, ready to tear his face to ribbons.

  He let out a shriek like a wounded animal.

  She raised her hand.

  Arms gripped her around the waist, lifted her into the air, hauled her away from Durban.

  “Let me go,” she screamed. She kicked her legs. “Let me go!”

  As she flailed, she felt her elbow strike something hard. Assande grunted in pain, but he did not relax his grip. She continued to struggle while Rogers handcuffed Durban.

  The evil little man actually had the nerve to smile.

  “Don’t believe her,” he said. “She’s a liar. She hates me because I’m better than her. She’s just trying to ruin me!” As Rogers began to haul him away, he looked directly at Faith. “Your word against mine, bitch! Go ahead, put me on trial! They’ll never convict!” He continued spewing bile until he was out of earshot.

  Faith fought Assande’s grip, though her thrashing grew feebler by the second. When Assande finally set her down, she was quivering, tears running down her cheeks. She sank to her knees.

  “I’m telling the truth,” she said, “I swear. He’s the liar.”

  Assande knelt beside her, brushed some of the hair out of her face with his fingers. “I believe you,” he said. He hugged her to his chest until her sobs subsided.

  When she had calmed down, she looked at him. His nose was bloody.

  “Did I . . .?” She reached out, her hand hovering an inch from his face.

  He winced. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” he said.

  “I—”

  He leaned in to kiss her.

  She pulled away.

  So many things rushed through her mind. Assande was there for her while Tiberian was off being a man of action, the good commander, saving the world. Assande had comforted her, believed her, had always supported her, and yet . . .

  Durban’s cruel words rang in her mind. She was not that way. And besides, she just didn’t feel that way about Assande. She extricated herself from him. “I can’t,” she said. She stood and scrubbed away the remnants of her tears, then wiped her damp hands on her pants, which she realized were still wet from snow.

  Assande also rose. “I should apologize. That was . . . taking advantage. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. She took a deep, shuddering breath. It didn’t feel okay, but right now nothing did.

  “Tell me what I can do,” he said.

  “You’ve done enough already,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “Of course,” Assande said. “You should really get some rest. You’ve had quite a day.”

  “No,” she said. “I have to see Cha’a’ni.” Her heart thudded dully in her chest. The surge of adrenaline from the confrontation with Durban was beginning to fade. She didn’t know if she could bear the pain of seeing the chieftain right now—injured, maybe dying.

  But she had to anyway.

  They headed to the base’s lobby together, in silence, then parted ways. She left the building and set off through the snow toward the Galuak camp.

  The storm appeared as if it might become a full-blown blizzard. Night was falling swiftly, the stars concealed behind thick cloud cover. The electric lamps that had been set up on posts throughout the camp gave off a wan light. Many of the Calchan tents shone warmly—glowing beacons that littered the landscape.

  Faith trudged through the frost. It was slow going. Her stomach began to grumble, but food would have to wait.

  By the time she reached the tribal camp, darkness had fallen. Bright flames illuminated the chieftain’s hut in the distance. As she drew closer, she heard a low sound carried on the wind, a deep moan undulating through the shadows.

  It was a chant, spoken by hundreds of voices.

  Amid the snow, a massive crowd had gathered—the Galuak tribe in its entirety. All the fire pits were alight. Many tribesmen carried torches soaked in animal fat, flickering fitfully. By the time Faith reached the group, the Galuak had spotted her and made way for her passage. All the while they kept on in their song, the men’s rumbling basso voices overpowering the rest.

  Faith proceeded through rows of people. Even the children were out, huddling in their mothers’ furs for warmth. More than one tribesman gave her a begrudging stare, but most greeted her with a mournful smile and pushed her onward. Despite the scarf covering her nose, the odor of unwashed bodies was thick in the air, making her eyes water. She was used to how the tribesmen smelled, but to have the scent on all sides was overpowering.

  When she broke through the crowd, she saw there was a ten-foot ring of space between the throng and the chieftain’s hut. She stepped into that space and sucked in a breath of cold, fresh air. Before she could enter, U’go, Cha’a’ni’s successor, blocked her path, a thick spear in hand.

  “Let me through,” she said in Galuak.

  “Le,” he said. No.

  “I have to see Cha’a’ni,
” she said. “It’s important I speak with him.”

  “Le,” U’go repeated.

  Faith tried to get past him. He shoved her back. Some of the tribesmen broke off and began jeering at U’go. After all she had been through, she had no patience for this nonsense. Adrenaline pumped through her again. She had nearly been shot by an arrow, had been insulted, humiliated, and had fallen down a pit. She could have easily died trapped in that pyramid. She had no fear left for U’go.

  She kicked him in the shin. He howled.

  She rushed by him, into the hut.

  Inside, a fire burned bright. The structure was warm compared to outside. Cha’a’ni lay on his animal hide pallet, wrapped in blankets. The EMT from earlier sat in a corner, looking frustrated; the discarded stretcher was propped against the wall next to him. Ka’pua, a wizened Galuak medicine woman, knelt at Cha’a’ni’s bedside. She was mashing some mixture in a carved bone bowl. She scooped up a gob of the green concoction with her fingers and eased it into Cha’a’ni’s mouth.

  The moment the EMT saw Faith, he jumped to his feet.

  “Thank God,” he said. “You have to talk sense into these people. This man needs to go to the medical suite as soon as possible. He has a punctured lung. He needs surgery, antibiotics, and a blood transfusion.”

  “Calm down,” Faith said. “I’ll see what I can—”

  U’go stormed into the hut, limping slightly. He went straight for Faith and grabbed her by the arm. She kicked at him again, fighting for purchase. This time he was prepared and fended off her attacks. Ka’pua, meanwhile, was unfazed by the whole encounter; she continued to spoon the odd mixture into Cha’a’ni’s mouth.

  Faith would not be deterred. She stomped at U’go’s feet, struck at him with her free hand, all to no avail.

  “U’go.” Cha’a’ni’s voice was faint, yet seemed to resonate through the space. U’go halted and looked to the chieftain expectantly. Cha’a’ni shook his head in remonstration.

  U’go blushed, shot a seething look at Faith, and left the hut.

  Faith rushed to Cha’a’ni’s side, kneeling opposite Ka’pua. She took the old chieftain’s hand. “We need to get you to the base,” she said. “Get you real medical treatment.”