“It’s under us!” shouted Duke, frantically peering over first one edge and then another, hopping about as if his feet were on hot coals.
“It’s passed under!” called Odin, reverting to his native Mandarin.
Everyone, Giselle included, grabbed a gun, and now four rifles and six concussive handguns were aimed at various points in the water, many of them shaking in unsteady hands.
“Alistair! Let me come up!” demanded Mordecai, and when Alistair returned a nod, the lithe half-Chinese hopped on the mast and climbed until he was on the lookout perch. Only when he reached it did Alistair swing a leg over the side to descend.
“What the bloody hell was that thing?!” demanded Duke when Alistair reached the bottom.
Alistair did not even bother to shrug. Instead, he pointed his rifle over the side where, unless the shark doubled back, he expected to find his foe.
“Megalodon,” breathed Odin as he came to Alistair’s side.
“What the hell?” asked Wellesley, who was nearby. The Aldran kept his puny handgun aimed at the water, jerking it back and forth as he fought his panic.
“Megalodon,” Odin repeated.
“What the hell is Megalodon?”
“I don’t want to be out here anymore!” called Taribo from his pontoon.
“A shark that went extinct almost two million years ago,” said Alistair with an appropriate reverence in his voice. “The biggest ever known to exist.”
“Extinct?” demanded Ryan in an angry tone. “It doesn’t look very fucking extinct from here!”
“How backwards is Aldra?” demanded Duke.
“DNA from extinct species can be resynthesized,” explained Alistair in a less confrontational manner, his searching eyes never leaving the water. “There are usually gaps that need filling with educated guesses. That creature probably has DNA similar to the Megalodon.”
“It was a hundred feet long!” Ryan almost squeaked.
“I’d say sixty,” corrected Odin. “They must have made some changes to the DNA. Megalodon hunted whales and dolphins. These creatures attack ships on the surface like they were designed to patrol.”
“Not only attack ships, but rip them to shreds and kill every last soul on board,” added Alistair. “Sharks don’t pursue something that doesn’t meet caloric requirements. An original Megalodon would be unlikely to attack a ship, but if it did, one bite into the hull would have been enough to send it on its way.”
“How the hell do you know so much about sharks?”
“Why don’t we change the pontoon guards?” Taribo called out. “Anyone who wants it.”
There was no immediate reaction to the suggestion, but after a moment, Frank ventured out to relieve Taribo. As Wei Bai moved to relieve Caleb on the right side, the rest relaxed a bit from their tense postures. Odin returned to the rudder and Ryan and Duke sat down on the benches, still nervous but allowing their muscles to uncoil a bit.
After gingerly shuffling down the plank, a process interrupted by several waves that, though they only tipped the boat slightly, still induced a halt to movement lest the men fell into the unthinkably dangerous water, Frank and Wei Bai finally reached their respective pontoons. Careful to maintain their balance, Caleb and Taribo ceded their seats and effected their own trip down the planks. Alistair sat on the bench immediately in front of the mast, and Taribo joined him. The young Aldran, after his time spent in the perch, his mind in a heightened state of attentiveness, his muscles ready to spring into action, and after the rush of adrenaline from the shark encounter, felt fatigue grip him. His body was like wax going soft under a hot sun. He initially struggled against the sleep that came upon him, but eventually found himself persuaded. His eyes closed to narrow slits that eventually shut tight, and he tucked his chin into his sternum and slept.
The next he knew, Taribo was leaning across him, grabbing the end of his rifle. Alistair jerked fully awake as the West African guided the rifle’s end until it pointed out to sea, away from the boat.
“You had Caleb dead to rights while you slept.”
Rubbing at his eyes, Alistair said with an annoyed grimace, “That was stupid of me.”
“Your safety was on.”
“That doesn’t matter. That was sloppy of me. How long was I asleep?”
“We’re a mile from shallow water,” said Taribo, and he turned in his seat to point behind their boat. “There are two of them now, trailing us.”
Alistair abruptly stood up to get a view of their pursuers.
“Can’t see them well from here,” Taribo explained. “Mordecai is watching, but they haven’t made a move to attack. They’re in firing range, but…”
“No, if they’re not attacking let’s not waste the ammo.”
“If they figure out to come at us from underneath…”
“It’s a shark. I’d be surprised if they had that sort of problem solving skills.”
“It’s a modified shark.”
“If they haven’t figured it out yet… I doubt they’ll deviate from their natural attack pattern.”
“The water’s changing color ahead!” called out Mordecai from above them. “Shallow water in five minutes!”
There were some long sighs and inchoate exclamations of joy and relief, and Ryan and Giselle embraced.
“We made it,” said Taribo.
“Across the strait,” Alistair clarified.
Frank rose from his seat on the pontoon, let out a whoop of victory, and shuffled his way back to the main part of the boat. Alistair frowned at the premature celebration but declined to protest since Mordecai was still in his place with his rifle ready.
“Let’s get the baggage ready to disembark,” suggested Duke, and not needing a second prodding, they set about doing exactly that.
Chapter 71
They were soon inland. What had felt like a warm day, invigorating, turned into a sweltering one without the ocean breeze. The sun cooked them and in the stagnant, humid air they sweated and chafed with their rough clothes. The two Arcarians were the most affected, but even African Taribo had moments where he paused, took a deep breath, and wiped the trickles of sweat off his brow.
They were in an open country south of the foothills and walked in an order established hundreds of thousands of years ago, when the genus homo had pronounced brow ridges and prognathic faces: the men walked the perimeter, and the women, or in this case the lone female, walked in the center. Alistair walked in front with Taribo and Wellesley, Mordecai walked in back with Frank while Odin, Duke, Caleb and Wei Bai flanked Giselle and Bert, hands bound behind his back, in the middle.
Presently they came into view of a pair of horsemen, though both had dismounted and were engaged in something the nature of which was not immediately apparent to the group. Whatever it was, they stopped upon spotting the eleven travelers. At some point as the group neared them, they must have spotted the weapons that, on Srillium, only the Gaians should have but were calm enough to remain put, knowing full well that, if the band intended them harm, escape was hopeless by then.
The two men were dressed like warriors and seemed solid specimens. One was bald with an ugly, twisted face whose many scars were an improvement inasmuch as they gave one something to look at other than the features Nature had so maladroitly formed. The other, a man with a head of salt and pepper hair, looked as if he were in pain.
“I do not know you,” said Taribo. “I expected to recognize any we came across here.”
“You are from Issicroy?” demanded the bald man with some kind of Slavic accent, his voice as unlovely as his face.
“No, Ansacrojan. Not anymore. It seems to me you have wandered off your land and are trespassing.” At this both men shifted uncomfortably, glancing once again at the weapons. “Not that I mind,” Taribo added. “Like I said: I am no longer of Issicroy.”
“Lords Issicroy and Ansacroy have signed a peace treaty,” explained the bald man. “We are just coming from Issicroy.”
“Anot
her peace treaty? May this one last a full week.”
The bald man seemed on the point of saying something, but thought better of it. Instead, he said, “Give me a moment.”
In response to Taribo’s nod, he picked up an arrow from the tall grass at his feet. He held a slender string in his other hand, and this he tied to the tail end of the arrow. Setting the missile back down, he took hold of the other end of the string and approached his miserable-looking companion. The other opened his mouth and the first, sticking his grimy fingers inside, tied the string around a tooth, which action provoked a round of half-stifled moans and fully expressed grimaces. This having been accomplished, the Slav took up the arrow and the bow with it. While his suffering companion tensed, balling his hands into tight, livid fists, the bald one placed the arrow, drew it back, aimed up and away, and let it fly.
There was a sound unlike any Alistair had ever heard when the string pulled taut and ripped the tooth from its moorings, followed by a familiar pained wail. As the arrow shot off, a stream of blood trailed after it, spattering the ground. The older man sank to his knees, clutching his mouth as more blood streamed from it, and doubled over. The amateur dentist casually slung his bow back on the saddle of his horse and turned his attention once again to the band of travelers.
“That’s an infection risk,” said Alistair as he nodded at the collapsed man. “If you don’t burn it, at least swish salt water around in the mouth.”
“Yes,” said the other with a hint of the patient tone of one who receives unnecessary instruction. “I believe there is an ocean just south of here.”
“Here’s hoping for a speedy recovery,” said Odin in his incongruent Mandarin accent.
For the first time the bald man gave him some scrutiny. A look of recognition crept into his expression. “I would be… disappointed with myself later if I did not ask you now how you got those guns,” he said as his companion rose on unsteady feet.
“We took them from the Gaians,” said Duke, pleased to include himself in giving credit for the deed.
The Slav fixed a skeptical look on them.
“We are on our way to take some more,” declared Wei Bai, but from the expression on the Slav’s face it was apparent he did not speak Mandarin. Wei Bai rolled his eyes and did not look at the man again.
“He says we are—” began Duke.
“We’re on our way to Issicroy,” Alistair interrupted. He was loud and forceful enough that it must have been apparent to the Slav that Alistair did not want him to hear the translation. “We need to purchase some horses.”
“Purchase?” asked the man with a quick glance at the guns. “You look like you are going to take some horses.”
“If that were the case we would not be having this conversation,” Taribo pointed out.
The man nodded and glanced at his steeds. “I’d sell you ours… for the right price… but I am afraid Dmitri is not fit to walk very far right now.” He accompanied this with a rough slap to Dmitri’s back. Dmitri looked ready to vomit, and some blood spilled out between his lips and covered his chin. Then, gravely and with a significant look at Odin, the bald man added, “I would be careful going to Issicroy right now. One of your companions might be mistaken for a man with a price on his head.” From the wry expression on his face, it was quite clear what he intended to convey.
In response to this, Taribo hefted his rifle. “We do not much fear Issicroy, my friend. But I appreciate your advice.”
***
Heading north, they came to the road they had taken from Issicroy what seemed a long time ago. Thereafter their going was easier, and they made what Alistair considered acceptable time, although their harmony was disrupted by Duke and Wei Bai demonstrating they were not to be commanded. The result of this was frequent disputes over the smallest suggestions. Mordecai was of a similar bent, and made sure to disagree with Duke and Wei Bai frequently enough to make it clear to them he was vassal to no man. Alistair was eyed warily by all three but, like Odin, kept quiet, ordering no one, expecting no compliance with his wishes. Eventually, a compromise plan for the various details of the hike was fashioned. After Mordecai, Duke and Wei Bai were satisfied it had been amended sufficiently to show their influence, a general agreement was reached as to how Bert was to be treated, how he was to be tied, with whom he was to walk, how often they would switch positions in the march, how frequently they would stop to eat and rest, when and how many times they would fire if attacked and things like that.
When dusk arrived they were within sight of the forest at whose northern edge Alistair and his companions caught up to Santiago the night of their escape. There was a brief argument about whether they should camp there or press on until they reached the forest, and when it was decided they would press on a simmering Mordecai trudged along behind, grumbling to himself.
When they were just inside the woods, they finally dropped their burdens and, wincing at sore shoulders and aching feet, sat down to consume a brief, cold meal. Little was said, the ultimate goal being to fall asleep. Giselle slept next to Alistair. The big Aldran marine lay down on a patch of grass and Giselle, as blithely as if she were sitting next to him at a kitchen table, lay down on her side, her back pressed against his chest. She wiggled once or twice to find a comfortable fit and, contentedly sighing, arranged his arm so she might use his bicep as a pillow.
He was not particularly bothered to be lying next to her, in fact he had imagined the scenario more than once, but facing the reality he was not sure how to respond. Her forwardness was quite beyond anything he had seen in a woman before, and she said nothing, taking liberties with his body as if by well established custom. On such a warm night, he could not credit his body heat as being sufficient reason for her actions. A different creeping explanation left him too flustered to think. He desperately wanted her to say something, to make the situation less awkward, but by the pace of her breathing he guessed she was falling asleep, oblivious to his discomfiture. The longer he said nothing, the more awkward he felt, and the more awkward he felt the less apt he was to say anything. In the end, he took a long time to fall asleep, lying with Giselle, his eyes wide open, his body tense and his nose filled with the aroma of her unwashed hair, which was for him, in such a place, quite wonderful.
***
It took them almost the entire next day to pass through the forest and reach the slopes to Issicroy. With Srillium hulking overhead, they trudged on until they met another pair of horsemen. The two men, armed with spears, bouncing lightly on their trotting horses, approached with arrogant, hostile expressions that abruptly evaporated when they spied the group’s guns. They spun their mounts around and galloped in the opposite direction, the steeds kicking up clumps of dirt and sod in their hasty retreat.
“We won’t be reaching the city with stealth and surprise,” surmised Odin as he watched the fleeing figures.
“We don’t need stealth,” was Mordecai’s reply.
Several of them were intimately familiar with the area, but Mordecai proved the most keen to lead, and he urged them along with an eagerness to match a leashed dog aching for a walk. Knowing they would be expected now, he chose an open path with little opportunity for ambushes. They went with two rifles in front – Mordecai and Frank – and two in back – Alistair and Taribo. The rest had their handguns, and if they fell short of the vigilance displayed on the trip over the strait, it was not by much.
Eventually, given the topography, they were forced to walk an enclosed path between hills with a few turns in it. Mordecai proceeded with a sort of frantic caution. Trained well, he took his time and made sure every turn was safe before continuing, but his impatience to reach the city was etched on his every feature, expressed by his every curse at the smallest inconvenience, radiated from his every impatient twitch and jitter. The path they walked, a sort of small canyon, deepened by degrees and as they passed farther over the rough ground, the sky seemed to shrink above them until, in looking up, they saw only a small sliver of i
t, turned to a deep blue by the time their path ran into the canyon where the river flowed.
It was only a short walk to the city, and as they neared it, Giselle took hold of Alistair’s hand and, with the exertion of a bit of pressure, indicated she wanted him to fall farther behind the group. He glanced at her, and her return glance told him to be patient. When Taribo, who had been with Alistair at the rear of the party, was finally several yards ahead of them, she spoke to him in a low voice.
“Mordecai is going to get us into something.”
“What?”
“Look how anxious he is. Lord Issicroy humiliated him for years, used him as a footstool, made him go naked everywhere… When Issicroy took me to bed he would make Mordecai stand there holding towels so he had to watch, but forbade any woman to ever touch him.” She gave him a significant look. “Now he has a gun.”
“Goddammit,” hissed Alistair. “Goddammit.”
He quickened his pace to catch up with Taribo. Laying a hand on the African’s shoulder, he leaned in as close to his ear as the dreadlocks would permit. “Mordecai is planning something.” Prompted by a curious look, he continued, “Look how anxious he is to get back to the place where he was a slave. Now that he has a gun.”
A look of understanding bloomed on Taribo’s face. “Do you want to help him or stop him?”
The question surprised Alistair.
Taribo shrugged. “It might not be a bad idea. Issicroy would crush us if he could.”
Alistair’s voice, when he responded, was hard as steel. “We’re going to purchase some horses and leave as peacefully as we can.”
Withûr We Page 69