Golden Heart (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles)

by P J Thorndyke

  “Thompson. So they ain’t dead after all. But how in the hell did they find Cibola? We took the map with us.”

  Lazarus had already been scanning the fighters and had found the one he was looking for. “Katarina,” he said. She was firing a Springfield rifle and picking off targets like she was a crack marksman, which she may very well have been for all Lazarus knew. Her dress was the same one, but torn and oily in places. Her hat was gone and her black hair hung loose.

  “She memorized the map?” asked Vasquez.

  “Or Townsend did.”

  The rebels fell back behind the Worm and fired off a few answering shots as they made for the trees. The Confederates, few in number now, seemed reluctant to follow them and began to inspect the Worm; that piece of mechanical ingenuity that had eluded and frustrated their general for months.

  “We’d better head back and report this to Mankanang,” said Vasquez. “Although the very sight of those damned Rebs makes me wanna shoot them all right now, they may be a useful diversion and take the heat off the Seven Cities for a while.”

  “They may be more useful than that,” said Lazarus. “What if we were to actively work together; us and Townsend’s partisans against Reynolds?”

  “You mean like compañeros?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I ain’t much for that idea. Maybe you forget, last time Townsend and I met she wasn’t too friendly.”

  “But a common enemy can unite even the fiercest of foes.”

  “Well, you can explain it to Mankanang.”

  The chief of the northern city was about as welcoming of his plan as Vasquez had been. His people had faced annihilation at the hands of one group of white men and their guns. Welcoming a second such group as allies sounded far too dangerous. He wasn’t even happy about his warriors using the captured rifles and revolvers. Already, a dire accident had been narrowly averted when one of them had fired off a round and almost hit a passing woman. Lazarus had decided to go ahead with the drilling of his men in the use of guns, with or without Mankanang’s approval, merely as a safety measure.

  Pahanatuuwa and his brother held counsel for a long time. It was clear that Mankanang disliked his prodigal brother, but had been forced to accept him as a valuable tool against the enemy. He had already made it known that he blamed Pahanatuuwa for bringing the white men here, and if it had been up to him he would have had him executed, for clearly exile was an ineffective punishment for one who kept returning.

  But the rest of the clan hailed Pahanatuuwa as a hero of their people. His mighty right arm and his unmatched ferocity as a warrior made up for any transgressions in their mind. It was a point of contention between the royal couple and the clan they ruled, with the latter all too happy to have these outlanders leading their warriors, and the former forced to sullenly accept them as a necessary evil.

  Lazarus wasn’t too sure what Pahanatuuwa had been saying to the chief, but eventually, with the urging of Tohotavo and the rest of the clan, Mankanang agreed to the plan. A large force of warriors would be assembled to rescue Captain Townsend and her troops from the Confederates and bring them back to the northern city as allies.

  As the clan celebrated this new opportunity to use white man’s own weapons against him, Mankanang and Xuthala seethed in their pueblo, clearly irked at having their authority trumped once more by the popularity of the returned exile.

  The following day, the host assembled. Refugees had flooded in from the cities in the valley basin, which was now wholly under Reynolds’s control. Only the eastern and northern cities remained now. They assembled on the ridge at dawn, painted and ready for war. Lazarus itched to be off, thinking of their potential allies—and Katarina in particular—under fire. He hoped that they would get there before Reynolds had time to send reinforcements from his main army that was somewhere in the basin.

  Pahanatuuwa was to lead the force with Lazarus and Vasquez as his lieutenants at the head of flanking squads. A handful of Cibolans who looked to be the most promising sharpshooters—or at least the less likely to kill anybody on their own side—had been issued with rifles which they carried in an alarmingly casual fashion, as if they were just a different kind of war club.

  Before they set out, Kokoharu came down from the pueblo to give Pahanatuuwa some parting words. And a kiss. The pair of them had grown very close over the last few days, and it pleased Lazarus to see the big fellow wear a smile once in a while. But right then, he just wished they could be off without any further hold ups. Katarina was down there, and he intended to give her a piece of his mind once they were back on the same side. He noticed Mankanang and Xuthala brooding from the doorway, surrounded by the women and children. Xuthala’s scowl put her husband’s to shame and seemed to deepen when Kokoharu planted a kiss on Pahanatuuwa’s cheek.

  The battle must have been raging all night in a series of skirmishes that had drawn the Confederates further and further from the Worm. The eyes of the Cibolans were wide as they took in this demonic behemoth from another world. It had been ransacked and detritus lay all about it; cases, tools and digging equipment.

  “Check the engine room for mechanite,” said Lazarus.

  Vasquez and two warriors did so and returned empty handed. “Too much to hope for,” the bandit said. “Reynolds won’t let a single chip of the stuff fall into our hands if he can help it.”

  “Pahanatuuwa’s supply for his gun is running low,” said Lazarus. “We’ll need to find some more and soon if we are to continue fighting this war.”

  Shots could be heard through the trees.

  “You got enough mechanite for one more battle, buddy?” Vasquez called over to Pahanatuuwa.

  The Cibolan nodded. He had also found a band of cartridges the Confederates had somehow missed. He slung it over his shoulder and led his men through the forest towards the sound of the fighting.

  The gunfire was elusive; every time they felt they were getting close, they found that the battle had moved on to someplace else.

  “We are nearing one of the central cities,” said Pahanatuuwa.

  The ground was rising up rapidly into a mesa that fell away on all sides as steep cliffs. It was probably the highest point in the valley; the perfect place for the Cibolans to build one of their fortresses.

  “On the other side of this mesa is the lake,” he continued. “The partisans have probably taken refuge in the deserted city. They would have spotted it from a distance last night.”

  True enough, the city was visible from the bottom of the trail that led up onto the mesa. Minarets of rock poked up out of the forest, and the houses built into them looked down on the trail like towers in a medieval castle. Springfields cracked out from one of the rock towers and they all ducked, but the shots weren’t aimed at them.

  “Confeds must be laying siege to the place,” said Vasquez. “They can only be a little way ahead.”

  They pushed on through the forest, and caught up with the tail end of the Confederate squad as it mounted another attack on the city.

  “Come on, men!” shouted their captain. “There’s only twenty of them and nearly thirty of us! If we can wipe these rebels out, the general will give us all medals! One final push!”

  Lazarus felled the man from a distance with his Springfield. The Confederates looked about in shock, knowing that it couldn’t have been a lucky shot from the tower. Pahanatuuwa let his Jericho rip into them, sending them scattering. Several fell to shots from the Cibolans, and the rest fled into the city to be picked at by sharpshooters in the towers. They were trapped.

  Lazarus and the rest of the attackers pursued, whooping and yelling. The Confederates who still lived sought out cover in the streets and houses of the city, and the hunt was on. Splitting up into groups, the Cibolans ducked in and out of buildings, and the sounds of gunshots and the screams of bludgeoned men echoed around the ghost town.

  Vasquez called up to the towers, “Put up your guns and get down here! It’s all safe now, we’ve come to li
berate you!”

  “I must say, it’s not altogether terrible to see you three,” said Captain Townsend as she exited the building at the foot of one of the towers and came towards them, her uniform muddy and torn. There was blood on it too. Not hers.

  “If that’s the best you can do in the way of gratitude, I guess it’ll have to do,” said Vasquez. He still gripped his pistol.

  “Relax, bandit, I’m not going to shoot you,” she said.

  “You’ll have trouble if you do. These Cibolans here consider me a friend.”

  Townsend eyed the mass of painted warriors at their backs. “Cibolans? So this is it, huh? The famous Cibola. Are you three rich as Croesus yet?” Her offhand remarks did not hide the excitement in her voice.

  “Forget it,” said Vasquez. “There’s nothing here but peaceful natives. Reynolds hasn’t got the message yet and is going through all seven cities looking for gold, but finding only war.”

  “Seven cities? So that part is true, then?”

  “That part’s true, but there ain’t a nugget of gold here. They got no use for it. It’s all been a scam like Lazarus here has been saying all along.”

  “No gold…” The disappointment was barely hidden on her face.

  Lieutenant Thompson snorted and muttered, “I knew it,” under his breath.

  Townsend glared at him. Lazarus was surprised that he was still following her orders. He was also surprised that she still kept him around after he nearly drew on her back at their underground base.

  “Well, that just makes everything seem like a bloody waste of time,” said Katarina. Her dress was run to rags and her unkempt hair made her look wild, as did the smears of blood and mud on her cheek. She reminded Lazarus of the paintings of female French revolutionaries, leading the charge to victory, rifle in hand and banner held high.

  “Katarina,” he said. “It appears our missions are at their endings. I must say, you have gone above and beyond in the pursuit of your orders. I would have thought that you would have returned home after bringing Vasquez and Pahanatuuwa into Townsend’s hands.”

  “Vasquez and who?” The Russian replied.

  “Hok’ee,” Lazarus explained. “We call him Pahanatuuwa now. That’s his real name. It’s a long story.”

  “I had no choice but to remain with Captain Townsend’s partisans, thanks to you. It would hardly have gone down well with my superiors had I headed home moments after you broke those two out of custody. No, I remained to see the task carried through and promised myself that I would kill you when I got the chance.”

  “We have a bigger enemy now,” said Vasquez. “That was the whole point of us sticking our butts on the line here. The Cibolans want to offer you an alliance. Provided you don’t try to loot their cities.”

  “If there’s no gold then we have no reason to be here,” said Lieutenant Thompson firmly. “We might as well return back the way we came.”

  “Your machine seems to have seen better days,” said Lazarus. “And Reynolds will undoubtedly send a return force to deal with you when he hears that you are in the area. We can’t stay here.”

  “He’s right,” said Townsend. “The Worm will take days to fix, not to mention finding the mechanite to power her. She’s grounded for the time being.”

  “Then you’ll come back with us?” asked Lazarus. “We can organize our next move against the Confederates together.”

  Townsend nodded, but he could see that she was reluctant. They were trapped here. Although she hated to abandon her beloved Worm, she had no choice but to throw her lot in with the Cibolans. Her reluctance was outweighed by that of her lieutenant whom Lazarus could hear cursing under his breath as they headed away from the city.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In which our heroes descend into the Kingdom of the Gods

  “We believed that you had all been killed by Reynolds’s bombing run,” Lazarus said to Katarina as they clambered up the stone steps to the northern city.

  “That was a scouting patrol,” Katarina replied. “I wonder, was it you who told him that we were in that area?”

  Lazarus was silent.

  “You bastard.”

  “Look, I didn’t exactly tell Reynolds anything. They were spotted from the bridge of that god-awful air fortress of his.”

  “They were caught out in the desert chasing you. Now there’s nothing left of them. Just don’t mention it to Townsend. She lost a lot of good soldiers.”

  Lazarus glanced uneasily at Captain Townsend, but she hadn’t overheard them. She was too distracted by the sight of the cliff city and its inhabitants which had turned out to meet them. But if Lazarus or any of his party had expected an ecstatic welcome praising their newest victory then they were to be disappointed, for more disturbing news had reached the northern city.

  The first Lazarus knew of it was the sight of even more refugees that had arrived, swelling the pueblo’s population even further. Soon food would be a problem, not to mention housing and sanitary conditions. The news was that these new refugees had come from the eastern city. Pahanatuuwa spoke with Tohotavo, and revealed all to the outlanders.

  “Reynolds has attacked the eastern city with his mortars,” he said. “The entire pueblo has been leveled and most of it has slid down into the valley. There are many killed, and all surviving are now homeless. Mankanang is calling an emergency meeting.”

  “Poor buggers,” said Lazarus as he looked around at the weeping and the wounded who had made their way along the mountain ridge. The northern city was now the only pueblo left to the Cibolans.

  “Another strike against all that is decent in the world by that bastard Reynolds,” said Captain Townsend. She seemed genuinely disturbed by the wailing of the children and the look of helplessness on the faces of their parents.

  “We brought him here,” said Lazarus. “That damned map we have all been chasing.”

  “This wouldn’t have happened if you had let me keep it!” she snapped. “But now look where you have led us!”

  “I had my mission…” said Lazarus lamely.

  “Damn your mission! And damn you!” She stalked off, apparently intent on helping the wounded.

  “She’s something of an idealist,” said Katarina. “She doesn’t understand people like us who aren’t fighting a revolution; people who have orders instead of morals.”

  “Fine words from somebody who’s supposed to be on her side.”

  “Oh, she’s a good leader but her own history colors her judgment.”

  “How so?”

  “She grew up in an orphanage. Her parents died during Sibley’s invasion of New Mexico Territory. That’s why she hates the Confederates more than anyone I’ve met.”

  Lazarus wondered if she hated them more than Pahanatuuwa. Everybody seemed to have their own axe to grind in this world.

  Mankanang’s meeting was held within the hour. The chiefs from the other cities, as well as the priests for each clan formed something of a council, but all were permitted to attend. Mankanang’s room was more packed than it had been when Lazarus and the others had first been brought there. After much debate, Pahanatuuwa told the outlanders what had been proposed.

  “My brother is against the idea but he has been outvoted. The other chiefs and the priests believe that the only way to defeat the enemy is to open the sipapu; the gateway to the kingdom of the kachinas.”

  “What on earth does that mean?” Lazarus asked. He knew that ‘kachina’ roughly translated to some sort of demi-god in the religion of the pueblo peoples, but this ‘kingdom of the gods’ was beyond his comprehension.

  “Below this land lies another land wholly separate but linked to each of the Seven Cities by gateways,” Pahanatuuwa explained. “It is a mirror of this world; similar, yet different. My people believe that our ancestors emerged from under the earth and so, in times of crisis, we return below ground.”

  Lazarus still wasn’t sure what all this meant and neither were his companions, but the Cibolans seemed
to be in a state of great excitement at this news. Apparently the kingdom of the kachinas was out of bounds, except on very rare occasions. He wasn’t too sure how much of this underground kingdom was real and how much was metaphorical. He noticed Mankanang arguing with Tohotavo in the corner of the room. The other chiefs got involved and Mankanang appeared to be overruled.

  “What’s the fuss?” he asked Pahanatuuwa.

  “My brother doesn’t believe that white men have any right to enter the kingdom of the kachinas. He thinks you should all stay here and die with your fellow invaders.”

  “Now that’s a bit much! Haven’t we fought hard enough to prove that we have no ill intentions towards your people?”

  “That is what the other chiefs have argued. My brother is a vindictive man, full of spite. He doesn’t even want me to be allowed to enter.”

  “You? But you’ve saved countless lives here!”

  “No. I have saved some of the lives I had already put in danger.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself.”

  He did not answer.

  With the onset of evening, all had been prepared. Food and ammunition had been organized into bundles for the descent into the underworld, and the wounded attended to by able bodied men and women. Tohotavo led the procession into the great kiva of the pueblo. Shaped like a massive well covered with a painted mud roof, the kiva was a round subterranean room. Lazarus had read that the kiva was the ceremonial lodge or temple of the pueblo peoples, and every pueblo had several to cater to all its inhabitants. It was where the young boys slept away from their families before they reached manhood, in order to be closer to the underground spirits.

  A fire burned low and smoky in the dim interior, and the poor light made the paintings on the walls stand out like livid, wild-eyed dancers. Lazarus focused on one that had a black face, red lips and a lolling red tongue. It was not hard to imagine a Moor visiting this valley in the time of the conquistadores and making such a name for himself that he was remembered as a kachina; a demi-god. Perhaps Estevanico had been the one who had made the map after all.