Hunt at World's End

by Gabriel Hunt

  One of Merpati’s faceless ghosts. Gabriel and Noboru exchanged glances.

  The man walked under the cage and struck the end of the pole against the wooden slats. The figure inside the cage didn’t move. Gabriel couldn’t help wondering if it was Joyce—and if so, whether she was alive or dead, merely asleep or too sick or weak to move. Stopping at the edge of the circular stone slab on the ground, the man slid one end of the pole into a socket beside the slab and turned the pole until it audibly locked in place.

  Noboru clutched suddenly at Gabriel’s arm. Gabriel turned—and saw a fist-sized tarantula creeping across the branches directly in front of Noboru’s face. Noboru’s eyes widened and even in the dim light Gabriel could see the blood drain from his face. His jaw dropped open.

  Gabriel clamped a hand over Noboru’s mouth before he could make a sound.

  The tarantula continued picking its way along the branch and disappeared into the underbrush. Gabriel glared at Noboru, who nodded, and then he let go. Noboru swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths.

  When Gabriel looked up again, the man in the robe and the skull mask was standing under the cage with his back to them. He’d picked up a long stick from the ground and was poking it up between the wooden slats at the person inside the cage, who stirred and moaned quietly. Whoever it was, she or he was still alive. Gabriel signaled to Noboru to stay put, then pointed to himself and the man in the clearing. Noboru nodded to show he understood, which was more than Gabriel could say for himself. He feared his gestures may have conveyed the impression that he had more of a plan than he actually had.

  Gabriel rose quietly to his feet. The skull-faced man still had his back to them. Gabriel crept toward him, one hand on the butt of his Colt in case the man turned too soon. Luckily he was too intent on waking the person in the cage to notice Gabriel coming up behind him. Gabriel wrapped one arm around the man’s neck. He meant to put him in a sleeper hold but the man spun quickly, slipped out of Gabriel’s grasp, and went for his sword. Moving fast, Gabriel threw a punch, connecting with the mask, which shattered. The face below was pale, with bushy eyebrows and a scraggly beard—definitely not Bornean. It looked like it could be the man Joyce had described in her last journal entry. He opened his mouth to shout for help, but Gabriel dropped him with a second punch to the face.

  Gabriel dragged the man’s body into the trees where it wouldn’t be seen, then returned to the cage. Up close, he saw that the chains it was hanging from were attached to gears mounted at the top of the arched tree trunks. He peered up through the mossy slats along the bottom of the cage. Lying inside was a woman in a torn blue-and-white shirt and dirt-smeared khaki shorts. She’d been gagged with a cloth tied around the back of her head, and had ropes tying her hands behind her back and binding her ankles together. She was facing away from him.

  “Joyce?” he whispered.

  She started. She struggled to sit up, then realized the voice was coming from below her and turned to lie on her stomach. Even with her face smeared with dirt, her hair tangled and matted, Gabriel recognized her and he felt a surge of relief.

  Joyce squinted down at him, studying his face, then her eyes spread wide. “Ayiel Unn?” she said around the gag.

  That took him by surprise. He hadn’t expected her to recognize him after so many years. He certainly wouldn’t have recognized her without the passport photo.

  “Yes,” Gabriel whispered. He glanced at the hut. No one seemed to have heard them. Not yet, anyway. “Noboru’s here, too. We’re going to get you out of here.”

  “Obo-oo eeyah?” Noboru’s here?

  Gabriel looked around for some way to lower the cage. “Are you okay? Will you be able to walk?”

  She nodded. “Uh-ee. Ay’ll ee ere oon.” Hurry. They’ll be here soon.

  A wooden door was set in the side of the cage, locked with a heavy metal padlock. Maybe he could bash it open, or find a way to pick it, but first he had to figure out how the hell to get up there. He’d have to climb one of the trees and make his way down the chains…

  Voices sounded from the hut, a sudden clamor that sounded like the “Hear, hear!” at the end of a convocation. He looked toward the door and saw a crack of light spill out as it slowly swung open. “Hang tight,” he whispered. “I’ll come back for you.”

  Joyce’s eyes widened again and she shook her head vehemently, tried to say something, but Gabriel put a finger to his lips and ran for the shadows at the edge of the jungle. He slid behind a tree as a procession of robed men emerged from the hut. He counted twelve in total, then quickly amended it to thirteen when a man who was clearly their leader or high priest or something appeared behind them. Unlike the others, he didn’t wear a skull mask or a white robe. His face was bare and he wore a red tunic with curling gold designs sewn into the fabric. A rectangular headdress of the same colors perched atop his head and in one hand he held a staff tipped with a bronze blade that gleamed in the reflected light of the flames.

  The men gathered in a semicircle around the stone on the ground and the metal pole planted upright beside it. They started chanting in a language Gabriel didn’t recognize. Not Bidayuh, which he simply didn’t speak—this was a language he had never heard before.

  He tried to catch a glimpse of Noboru, but from where he was now it was too dark to see the spot where they’d been hidden.

  The chanting grew louder, more insistent. One of the masked men stepped up to the metal pole and pulled it toward him like a lever. Gabriel heard a grinding of gears underground and the circular stone began to slide sideways, revealing a hole beneath. No, it wasn’t a well this time. The bright orange flames of a roaring fire licked up out of the darkness.

  Gabriel’s eyes went from the fiery pit to the cage hanging on chains directly above it. Not good. He drew his Colt.

  The men in the skull masks looked up at the cage. Gabriel noticed a change in their chanting. He may not have spoken the language, but he knew the sound of a climax approaching when he heard it.

  He needed to stop this before either the cage or its contents got dropped into the flaming pit. But how? There were too many men for him to take on at once. What he needed was a diversion, something to distract them before they could start lowering the cage…

  A gunshot rang out. Gabriel saw a muzzle flash in the darkness and the skull-faced man who’d pulled the lever cried out, clutching his stomach where a red stain had blossomed on the white robe. He fell—but as he fell, he caught the lever in the crook of his arm, yanking it the rest of the way.

  The cage began slowly lowering, chain link by chain link, toward the fire pit.

  Gabriel’s heart slammed into his throat. Not good. Not good at all.

  The men in skull masks were shouting angrily, drawing their swords, pointing toward the area where the gunshot had come from. Where Noboru was hiding.

  And from inside the cage came the sounds of Joyce shouting through her gag and kicking at the wall of the cage as it dropped closer to the flames.

  Chapter 5

  The high priest shouted orders and the men in the skull masks ran toward Noboru’s hiding place. Gabriel gripped his Colt and charged out of the woods. He was tempted to try to take down some of the men from behind, even up the sides a bit, but instead he headed straight for the lever. He had to stop Joyce’s cage from going into the fire before he could deal with this wouldbe army of the dead.

  As he ran, the cage continued its descent toward the flames. On either side of the bowed tree trunks, massive stone counterweights slowly lifted into view, giant tablets carved with hideous, leering faces.

  The high priest turned suddenly—Gabriel figured the man must have heard his racing footsteps or spotted him out of the corner of his eye. He frantically barked out a new order and pointed. Four of the masked men broke away from the group heading for Noboru and moved to intercept Gabriel, shouting and swinging their swords above their heads.

  Gabriel pulled the trigger of his Colt on the run, knocking the clos
est of the charging swordsmen off his feet. He smashed mask-first into the ground.

  Shots rang out from Noboru’s hiding place as well, as the remaining men reached the edge of the jungle. Two of them fell before the others swarmed into the trees.

  Gabriel kept racing for the lever. There were three men still coming at him, and the fastest of them caught up with him when he was two yards short of his goal. The man swung his sword in a wide arc, and Gabriel desperately ducked below it. He swung out with his free hand, burying it deep in the man’s belly. But the next swordsman was right behind him, leaping over his fallen comrade’s body as the man collapsed.

  Gabriel fell back, the descending blade narrowly missing him. He continued retreating as the swordsman aggressively bulled forward. The nearest of the posts planted around the perimeter of the clearing was just steps behind him—he could feel the heat from the flames on his back—and he ducked behind it as the blade swept toward his head again. The sword buried itself deep in the wood of the post. As the swordsman tried to yank his blade free, Gabriel threw himself against the post, striking it as hard as he could with his shoulder. The bowl at the top wobbled, then toppled over, showering the man with burning oil. He screamed as his robe burst into flames. He relinquished his sword and staggered blindly away, leaving a flaming trail behind him.

  The last of the four swordsmen immediately took his place. He slashed at Gabriel, who leapt to one side, trying to circle around toward the lever again. He heard the gears turning and the links of chain slowly paying out; he could hear Joyce’s muffled screams from within the cage. There was no more time. He swung his Colt up and put a bullet through the forehead of the man’s mask, snatched the man’s sword out of his hand as he fell, and ran all-out for the lever.

  As Gabriel neared it, he saw Noboru in the distance, being dragged from his hiding place. The older man was empty-handed; one of the robed men had seized his gun. But Gabriel knew that didn’t mean he was unarmed. Demonstrating that he’d kept up his combat training even in retirement, Noboru twisted suddenly out of their grasp and in the same fluid motion pulled the long knife from his ankle sheath. He drove it into one masked man’s chest, grabbing the man’s sword with his other hand as he drew his own blade out. When another of the men rushed him, Noboru blocked the man’s thrust with the sword and slashed across his throat with the knife. A spray of blood stained the man’s mask a dark red. Seeing two of their fellows fall in quick succession, the others hesitated, took a step back. Noboru pressed his momentary advantage, letting loose with a martial shout and rushing them with both blades swinging mercilessly.

  Gabriel, meanwhile, slid to a stop beside the lever, holstered his Colt, and—with Joyce’s cage less than a half dozen feet above the fire and sinking lower—reached out to take hold of the metal pole. But before he could close his fist around it, a sword sliced toward his arm. He jumped back, turning to face the second swordsman, who’d apparently recovered from the punch to the midsection that had taken him down earlier. Gabriel swung his sword around with both hands on the hilt, but his opponent parried and came back with another thrust. Gabriel knocked the blade aside, then stretched out a leg and kicked the lever back into its upright position. Behind him, the chains halted their descent and the massive counterweights shuddered to a stop. Gabriel swung his sword at his adversary’s neck, but the man met his blade and, kicking out with one sandal-clad foot, shoved the lever forward again. The gears groaned back into motion and the cage started to lower once more.

  They chopped at each other, the clash of metal ringing in Gabriel’s ears as he struggled to push the swordsman back. He maneuvered around until the lever was at his back and as his opponent’s blade swept through the air beneath his chin, Gabriel fell backwards against the lever, shoving it to the “off” position. Then he let go of his sword, spun, and grabbed the lever in both hands. He twisted it mightily and yanked it out of its socket. Swinging with all his strength, Gabriel smashed it into the side of the masked swordsman’s head, like a home run hitter aiming for the fences. The pole may not have been a regulation Louisville Slugger, but it packed plenty of heat. The man staggered back, back, teetered on the edge of the flaming pit—and was gone, his passage marked only by a momentary rush of flame and ash from below.

  Gabriel looked to the side. The wooden cage was no longer overhead—it was right next to him, and Gabriel could look directly through the side of it into Joyce’s terrified eyes. She was on her knees, and her forehead was glistening with sweat. For that matter, so was his. Her eyes went wide suddenly as she stared past him. “Ook ow!”

  Something slammed into him from behind, knocking him to the ground. He rolled onto his back and saw the high priest standing above him, staff in hand, his eyes flashing with rage. He spun the staff so that the bronze blade at its end was pointing at Gabriel’s chest. Gabriel rolled, and the blade sank into the ground behind him. He grabbed the sword he’d dropped and scrambled to his feet.

  The high priest pulled the blade free and charged him, holding the staff like a bayonet. Gabriel parried with the sword, knocking the staff aside, but the man kept coming, striking at him with the side of the staff and trying to bring the blade around for another thrust. Gabriel knocked it aside each time, stepping backward to buy some room, until he felt the intense heat of the fire pit at his back. He knew he must be close to the edge—he could feel the heat melting through the heels of his boots.

  The high priest thrust his staff at him again, and this time Gabriel swung his sword down from above, driving the bronze blade to the ground. As it jabbed into the dirt, Gabriel lunged forward, grabbed hold of the shaft, and pulled it toward him, wedging one foot against the base to serve as a fulcrum. The high priest made the mistake of clinging to the staff stubbornly—as Gabriel had hoped he would—and went up in the air as Gabriel dragged the staff toward him. By the time the high priest realized he should have let go, it was too late: Gabriel had pivoted, and the man was dangling by his hands above the pit.

  “Stop!”

  The voice came from twenty yards away, the opposite end of the clearing, and Gabriel looked up to see Noboru with a curved sword at his throat, each of his arms held in the tight grip of one of the skull-face acolytes.

  “I’m sorry, Gabriel,” he called. “I tried—”

  “Silence.” The man holding the sword to his throat shouted to Gabriel: “If you let him drop, your friend dies. Both of your friends, and then you.” His accent was thick—but Gabriel had no difficulty understanding what he was saying.

  What Gabriel was having difficulty doing was keeping the staff from sinking in his arms. The high priest wasn’t a small man, and that damn headdress must have weighed fifteen pounds by itself. He tried not to let the strain show in his voice. “And if I don’t?” Gabriel called. “If I let him go? Free, I mean. Let him go free, not let him go into the pit.”

  There was some angry muttering among the robed men, but the one who had spoken silenced them with a gesture. “If you let him go, we let you go.”

  “You first,” Gabriel said. The man didn’t lower his sword. “You’d better make up your mind fast. I don’t know how much longer he can hold on.”

  The high priest’s hands were clutching and re-clutching the staff sweatily. He cried out in the unrecognizable tongue they’d spoken in earlier and instantly the men released Noboru’s arms. The one holding the sword reluctantly lowered his blade.

  “Get over here,” Gabriel shouted and Noboru darted over, covering the distance between them in seconds. He took hold of the shaft of the spear just above where Gabriel was holding it, and together they dragged it over till the high priest was over solid ground again. He let go and collapsed in a heap. His robes were singed and smoking.

  “Now, get out of here,” Gabriel shouted, pulling his Colt again. He aimed it at the high priest, who scuttled backward on his hands and heels. “Go.” He trained his sights on one after another of the men till they’d all faded into the darkness of the jungle. Th
e sound of their footsteps receded as they fled.

  “I feel terrible,” Noboru said, “I should never have let them—”

  “Feel terrible later,” Gabriel said. “Right now I need you to keep an eye out for them, make sure they don’t come back.”

  He raised one foot carefully and smashed his heel against one of the cage’s upright slats—but instead of the wood splintering as he’d hoped, the cage as a whole swung farther out over the pit. Inside, Joyce moaned.

  “Careful,” Noboru said, glancing over. “That chain’s going to give.”

  He was right: as the cage swung, the heavy chain shifted ominously in the narrow track that held it, and one end of the cage dipped precariously toward the flames.

  There was no more time. Gabriel holstered his gun and jumped for the nearest link of the chain. It burned his palms as he caught it but he held on and pulled himself up until he was standing on the uneven upper surface of the cage. It was slanting like a barn roof and hot as hell. He could only imagine what it felt like for Joyce inside. Straining to keep his balance, he made his way to the far side—the side the cage’s door was on—and lowered himself hand-over-hand till he was level with the padlock. Letting go with one hand, he pulled his Colt and struck the padlock with its butt. The lock didn’t budge.

  “Come on,” he muttered and tried again.

  The cage shook and dropped some more. He could feel the fire beneath him. Through the bars, Joyce stared at him. “Oo ih,” she said, sounding exasperated. “Oo ih!”

  What?

  Oh. Shoot it.

  Gabriel said, “Move back,” needlessly—Joyce had already sensibly crawled to the farthest corner she could reach—and took aim. The hasp of the lock flew apart as a bullet plowed through it. He yanked the remnants loose and tossed them aside, then unlatched the door and stuck an arm inside. Joyce tumbled into it and he hoisted her up onto his shoulder. The cage shifted again, dipping lower.