by K. Panikian
It was probably early afternoon now. If he slept even for just one hour, we’d be out of daylight before we caught back up to the main trail.
“I’m going to start a fire because I need to burn the bauk,” I told Dmitri. “But I don’t think we should make camp here. Even after I torch the body, there is blood all over the snow and these mountains have other predators besides him,” I gestured to Owen.
“Okay,” answered Dmitri. “I’ll help you gather the firewood.
OWEN was still asleep when I finished whistling the bauk’s body to ashes. He was too heavy for me to carry, but I could probably drag him through the snow. I tied the emergency blanket around his feet and then, using my sword belt and Owen’s tied together, made a daisy chain that attached to my backpack straps. I took a couple of steps and realized this method was not going to work. He was too heavy for me.
“I will help,” said Dmitri. He pulled his walking stick apart and telescoped each remaining piece out a few extra feet. He tied the emergency blanket with Owen wrapped inside to the bottoms of the poles and then crisscrossed the other ends of the poles in front of me, making a travois. I held onto the ends at my waist and took a step forward. The poles kept Owen’s weight suspended and it was much easier to pull him.
I grinned at Dmitri. “Very nice!”
“We will take turns,” he answered and led the way back up the slope. I followed, dragging Owen, and eyeballing the sun dropping in the sky.
When we finally got to the top of the slope, I took a long rest. My thighs were burning. Eventually, Dmitri gestured me back to my feet and he took his turn dragging the travois. He marched along easily and I wondered how strong he really was. He looked like an older man, his ashy-blond hair was streaked with gray and his face had deep laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. But he pulled Owen’s not inconsiderable weight without any hesitation.
We followed our own tracks for a while and then, when we reached a wide clearing, I stopped and said, “Let’s make camp here.”
Dmitri checked the sky, looked to the east, and then said, “We will wait here, yes. But I don’t think you’ll have time to make camp.”
“What?” I asked. And then I heard it too. Coming from the east, over the mountain, was a low-flying helicopter.
“Quick!” I said, dropping the travois poles, “Help me hide the swords in the snow!”
“There is no time,” Dmitri answered. “They have seen us.”
The helicopter swung in a wide arc in our direction and then dropped to land in the snow a hundred yards away. The spinning rotors send balls of ice whizzing at us and I made sure Owen’s face was protected. He still slept, despite the thumping noise.
The main cabin door opened and two figures hopped down into the snow. They were armed with machine guns and wore gray and white camo military uniforms, including helmets.
I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach.
They ran toward us through the blowing snow and when they got close, they shouted in Russian and gestured with their guns. Beside me, Dmitri lifted his hands in the air, so I did the same.
I was quickly disarmed of my knife and sword and Owen was loaded onto a stretcher, brought over by another set of men from inside the helicopter. I followed the stretcher with anxious eyes as we moved quickly toward the helicopter, Dmitri and I marching in the center of the armed group. My eyes watered in the chilly, churning wind.
Inside, I was handcuffed to my seat and someone put my seatbelt on. We lifted into the air and I met Dmitri’s eyes feeling terrified and uncertain. He smiled back at me reassuringly and then leaned his head back and shut his eyes like he was taking a nap.
I watched the snowy trees flash by from above and after just a short time, we landed in the courtyard of what looked like a small military base. There were several concrete buildings arranged in a square, all fenced in with barbed wire. I saw snow machines and a few more armed men and women walking around. Dmitri and I were uncuffed and helped out of the helicopter. On the ground again, a woman in gray fatigues gestured for us to follow her. I looked back at the helicopter and saw the stretcher with Owen being handed out. The two men carrying it went into a different building. I tried to control my panic.
Dmitri patted my back and we followed the woman into the largest building in the square. It was a squat, gray building with heavy doors. The woman escorting us showed her ID to a man behind a glass partition and when he waved at her, we walked inside. The woman led us down a dim hall and then stopped outside a room, gesturing inside.
We stepped into a small room. There was a folding table on one side, with four chairs arranged around it. The woman asked a question and Dmitri answered. He turned to me and asked, “Water?” I nodded. The woman left, locking the door behind her.
“We’re in big trouble, Dmitri,” I hissed. He waved his hands back at me and said dismissively. “This is not a James Bond movie. We are in a civilized country. We will answer some questions and they will let us go.”
I wasn’t sure of that at all. I paced around the room a couple of times and then sat in one of the folding chairs. I rested my head on my folded arms, but sat upright when the door opened. The woman entered again, carrying two bottles of water, followed by a tall man in a green officer’s uniform. He was in his mid-40s, maybe, with a stern expression on his serious face.
He gestured to the table and Dmitri sat beside me. The woman shut the door, standing beside it with her hands behind her back, and the officer sat across from us.
He asked Dmitri a question and at the older man’s answer, switched to English.
“Your associates are refusing to answer my questions. I must hold all of you until someone tells me what is going on.”
I stared at him blankly. He’d picked up Theo and Julian too? He saw my confusion and said, “Yes, I have your associates in a cell across the way. They refused to surrender their swords and so we tased them and then disarmed them. They are fine.”
He continued, “The man with you in the clearing has regained consciousness. He’s in the med ward being monitored. The doctor has told me he appears to be merely exhausted, not ill.
“So, you see, I’m sharing lots of information. Do you have information for me? Why are you in my mountains, carrying swords and knives, and wearing chain mail?”
My mouth dropped open. Chain mail? Not Theo and Julian, then. He must have picked up part of the Varangian crew. My mind raced. What on earth could I tell him?
“Okay, I will answer,” Dmitri said and I turned to him quickly, my hand out to stop him.
Dmitri stretched his own hand forward on the table and sketched a shape in the air, like a lightning bolt, and the image of a double-headed axe briefly appeared, strapped to his back, before vanishing. He was suddenly taller and grimmer.
“You know me, Vitaly Ivanov,” he said in a deep, echoing voice. His blue eyes glowed brightly as the room around us turned black.
“Perun?” The commander asked, his voice stunned and his eyes wide. I stared as well.
“You may call me Dmitri in this time and place. I am just here to help a small amount. You must let these people go on their way. Their task doesn’t concern you.”
What was going on? I looked at the woman by the door but she stared into the distance in front of us, appearing not to see or hear our side of the room.
“You must also leave this area for a little while. Maybe a training exercise to the south?”
“I must insist,” the officer, Ivanov, tried to continue, but hesitated when Dmitri slammed his hand on the table.
“You know me,” his voice thundered. The lights flickered.
The officer’s face paled and he nodded. “I know you. I will do as you say.”
Dmitri sat down, looking affable once more. The glow in his eyes dimmed. “Thank you,” he said.
Ivanov stood and went to the woman at the door. He spoke a few words to her and she turned and left the room.
He came back to our table and said to D
mitri seriously. “I can only give you one week. If, in one week, there are still people with medieval weapons, strange explosions, and giant patches of blood and ashes in my zone, I will have to act. I have a responsibility to keep peace here. My superiors will not be swayed by commands from the old gods.”
I swallowed.
Dmitri agreed, “Yes, one week, that is sufficient.” He smiled at the officer. “You may ask me,” he said gently.
The officer knelt in front of him, bowed his head, and said, “Perun, Sky God, may I have your blessing?”
Dmitri tenderly put a hand on top of the officer’s bent head and murmured something, his face kind. There was a pulse of pale blue in the room, an echo of the bright blaze of Dmitri’s eyes. Ivanov stayed bowed for a minute and then stood again.
There was a knock at the door and the woman from earlier spoke from the hall. Ivanov gestured to us, “Please come.”
We followed the two of them back down the hall and out into the snow. Standing in front of the building, guarded by three men with large guns, were two tall Varangian men. They wore chain mail on top of long tunics and their faces were hidden in the hoods of their cloaks. They stood with their arms crossed, looking fierce and out of time.
I heard another door open and turned to see Owen walking out, looking tired but unhurt. His gaze lasered on me and I saw his shoulders slump momentarily in relief. I took a shaky breath. When he came up beside me, I snagged his hand and squeezed and he pulled me tight to his side, inhaling deeply.
“Hey, what’d I miss?” he asked in a whisper. “Who are the tall guys?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I whispered back.
Ivanov gestured us forward and said something to the soldiers guarding the Varangians. They lowered their guns and stepped back. We all walked out of the open gates of the facility. Ivanov stopped at the entrance and said again firmly, “One week.” Then he walked back inside and gestured. The gates shut behind him and we were outside in the snow.
I stared at the two Varangians and felt the weight of their return stares pressing into me.
Chapter 24
“Hello,” I tried, smiling at the two hooded men. No response.
“I don’t think they speak English,” Owen said.
Of course not. Why would they?
I added a friendly wave next and then gestured to myself, “Verena,” and to Owen, “Owen.” Still nothing. I pointed at Dmitri and then paused.
He smiled at me and said, “Dmitri is still fine.”
I cleared my throat and pointed at him, “Dmitri.” Then I gestured to the men, still staring at me. I opened my hand at them and made a sort of “come on” gesture.
The taller one in the dark green tunic spoke first, “Bard.” Then he pointed at the slightly shorter man in blue and said, “Cato.” I still couldn’t see their faces under their cloaks, but his tone seemed pleasant.
Suddenly I heard a creaking noise from the gate again and turned back to it quickly, expecting to be taken into custody again. Instead, it was the woman from the interrogation room and she was carrying an awkward parcel in her arms. She dropped it onto the snow and out dumped our weapons and packs. She nodded at us and headed back into the facility, and the gate slammed shut once again.
I ran over and quickly strapped on my saber and my nightingale knife. My backpack was there too. Owen grabbed his sword, knife, and belt as well. I picked up Dmitri’s staff, now back in one piece, and handed it to him with his backpack.
Bard and Cato walked over and re-armed next. While they shuffled around, I checked the sky. It was almost nightfall, and I had no idea where we were.
“This way,” Dmitri said, and started walking northeast. Bard and Cato fell in automatically behind him and I started to do the same. I stopped when Owen touched my arm.
“How does he know which way to go?” he asked.
I filled him in on Dmitri’s surprise while we walked across a snowy field and into the trees on the other side. The military base disappeared from view and the terrain started to climb.
“Another one?” Owen asked in a soft voice. “Why are there so many deities interested in this mess?”
I shrugged. “Probably the reason Mesyats said. The besy don’t belong here; they belong to a scary god in the portal world; and they need to be sent home and the gate shut. The gods can’t act directly, so we’re doing it for them, with some help here and there.”
“Smart girl. I said before,” Dmitri called back to us.
Owen fell silent and I studied the two Varangians marching in front of us. Their boots were leather and fur; they both carried longswords at their hips and packs on their backs. Cloaks draped across the packs, hanging down to their knees, and they wore fur mittens. The underside of their hoods looked like they were lined with fur too, so hopefully they weren’t feeling the cold. They scanned the snow and trees around us continually as we walked, occasionally murmuring to each other in a language I didn’t recognize. Maybe something Germanic?
We reached the top of the first of a series of ridges heading back into the mountains and Dmitri stopped. He turned, leaning on his staff, and we faced him in a semicircle.
“I’m leaving now. Your friends are there,” he gestured northeast. “Follow the ridgeline and climb. Tomorrow, you will intercept them. For now, camp here.” He handed his pack to Owen and said, “You may keep the tent.”
“Thank you,” I told him sincerely.
“You’re welcome. You,” he said directly to Owen, “keep practicing. Don’t rely on the sword’s magic alone.” He turned to the two Varangians and said something. They nodded at him and bowed their heads.
He pivoted to the south and started to walk away. I watched him for a moment and then, there it was, he vanished into the twilight.
“Right,” I said brightly. “You guys have your own tent, right?”
IT turned out that yes, they had a tent, sort of. Cato paced, inspecting the trees around us for a few minutes, and then pulled a rope from his pack. He tied each end around two trees that were about 20 feet apart, pulling the rope taut. Then he unrolled a hand-sown tarp and draped it over the rope and staked down its four corners. He scraped the snow out from under the shelter and laid another tarp on the bare earth. The resultant improvised tent looked chilly. It would keep the snow off their heads, but the two ends were open to the air. It would be hard to keep their body heat contained.
Bard came over with large piles of pine branches in his arms next. Aha. He draped the branches at each end of the tent, shutting the inside to the elements.
Owen and I watched the whole undertaking and then set up our blue one nearby.
I built a fire pit in the snow and everyone scattered for firewood until we had a decent pile. I lit a spark and then whistled it gently to the kindling and started the fire. Both Bard and Cato watched interestedly. We sat on logs and rocks around the blaze. I whistled a nonsense tune, put a quizzical look on my face and raised my arms and shoulders up, like a shrug, then pointed at the two of them.
Bard caught on immediately and sent a small, blue energy bolt blasting from his fingertips into the snow at his feet. He was striker.
Cato weaved his fingers in front of his body and images appeared in quick succession, a bauk, a village, a horse. He was a zhakhar, an illusionist, like Grandpa Basil.
Cato pointed at Owen and Owen gestured to his sword pommel, then mimed a snarl. Bard nodded, but Cato still looked confused. Now that he’d removed his hood, I could see he was young, maybe only in his late teens. He had straight blond hair to his shoulders. Bard looked older, probably around my age. His hair was a similar color. I wondered if they were brothers.
Owen pulled a couple of MREs from his pack and offered me one. Mmm, chili. I opened it and showed the two Varangians. Owen pulled two more from his pack and offered them. Both men leaned forward, looked at mine, and sat back shaking their heads.
Bard opened his bag and handed Cato a couple of packets. He stood and grabbed a fe
w thin branches from the firewood pile, stripped them efficiently, and made a tripod. Then he filled a pouch with untouched snow and hung it from the apparatus. He planted it in the snow so that the pouch hung a little bit above the fire and tossed in the contents of one of the packets.
Cato opened the other and started munching on something that looked like hard bread, or a cracker.
“I wish we could talk to you,” I said. “How many more people are with you? Why did you choose to come through the portal? Are you here to fight with us?”
Cato must have heard the entreaty in my tone because he offered me a cracker. I laughed and shook my head, “No, thanks.”
We sat companionably around the fire for a while. Eventually, Bard opened the pouch cooking over the flames and dumped the contents into two small, wooden bowls. He handed one to Cato and sat with his. He tilted his bowl so I could see – it looked like a white fish, maybe, with some vegetables and spices. It smelled delicious. I made an appreciative sound and Bard looked pleased.
I wanted to talk to Owen but didn’t want to exclude the two men, so I sat quietly. I watched the smoke drift from the fire up, high into the boughs of the trees encircling us, and then into the patchy pieces of sky I could see through the branches. The stars were dim tonight and the moon was bright. The moonlight brightened the snow around us and the trees and rocks cast long shadows. The landscape was gray and black and lighter gray.
My eyes started to droop and I looked at Owen. He looked tired too. I stood and gestured to our tent. The Varangians stood as well. They kicked snow over the fire and went off to their tarp shelter, moving the pine boughs aside to climb inside. I hoped they’d be warm enough.
Our tent looked snug. Inside, I spread my emergency blanket on the floor and dug through Dmitri’s former pack to find his. I reminded Owen to keep his boots inside the blankets with us. I didn’t think we would need to zip our coats together this time, but I planned to keep my hat on. Theo had brought us new socks, so I stripped off my current pair and switched to the dry ones with a long sigh. Heaven.