The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption

by YS Pascal

  Dr. Malamud raised her hand. “Wait. I’d like to stay with—“

  The roar of the jets drowned out the rest of her sentence. Another blast vibrated our underground shelter. “Um, Earth history was never my strong subject, Professor, but weren’t jet fighters discovered less than a hundred years ago?” I asked as the building shook from the force of the bomb.

  Dr. Malamud raised an eyebrow, “I’m not familiar with the term ‘jet’, but Heron, Hypatia, and so many other ancients had developed models such as the aeroripile that could be used for rapid flight. Why would it take more than two thousand years to implement them?”

  Spud whispered, “They had no Dark Ages. Our Renaissance was delayed a thousand years.”

  Oh. “But, she didn’t she say Crusades?” I countered.

  “Dr. Malamud, who would the combatants in this epic battle be?” Spud asked.

  “Why the Order of Isis and Osiris and the acolytes of Zarathustra, of course.”

  Of course. Without Yeshua’s resurrection as their inspiration, the numbers of Yeshua’s followers would never have reached the critical mass needed to unseat the competing religions of the era.

  And Yeshua could never have completed his own mission, to return and inspire those folowers, without the Somalderis. Which he didn’t have, thanks to me.

  Doomed.

  Chapter 20

  Nothing New Under the Sun

  Golgotha—alternate eleven hundred years ago

  We heard the whine of the jet’s engines fade into the distance before we dared venture out onto the barren street, which was occupied only by rusted motor vehicles and mangled cycles.

  The rolling hills on the horizon indicated we were still in the environs of Judea, but the land was dry, dusty, and barren. “Where is everybody?”

  “Probably evacuated to avoid the war,” John said.

  Professor Malamud agreed. “At its peak, the Zarathustran empire extended east to the Hindi peninsula and north to the Varangian kingdom. The Cult of Isis expanded to the Anglo-Saxon Isles and the Arctic States, absorbing mythical elements of those cultures such as the honoring of the fantasy creatures, the Valkyries.”

  I jumped in without thinking. “Valkyries aren’t fantasy—I met—“ Seeing the looks on John and Spud’s faces, I did a 180, adding, “many people who believe in them.”

  The Professor nodded, “Despite tens of thousands of years of evolution, the drive for spirituality has in fact, grown. Many people feel a need to believe in something beyond the material, beyond the limits of our human senses and cognition, even if it doesn’t exist.”

  “Indeed,” echoed Spud, casting a quick glance at John.

  “Life has no meaning without faith in something,” said John, smiling again at the Professor. “Something beyond ourselves.”

  “Life is its own purpose.” She returned the smile.. “And how wonderful that we have the opportunity to relish it fully every day.”

  “None of us will be relishing life for long if we don’t transport out of here,” warned Spud. “Dr. Malamud, I acknowledge your thirst for scientific discovery and your astute skills at observation. But we remain at growing risk of discovery here with every passing minute. We must return to Alsharif post-haste.”

  The Professor hugged John again, shaking her head. “I told you. I’m not going back yet. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” she said to Spud.

  John hugged her back and grinned. “Love that glue.”

  Really, John? I gifted my brother with my biggest eye roll. I expected Spud to emit an angry comment, too, but all I heard in response was a loud buzz and the smell of burning flesh. I turned to see a couple of uniformed men behind us, armed with a type of taser, felt searing pain throughout my entire body, and blacked out.

  * * *

  The liquid filled my lungs, smothering me as I gasped, desperate for a lifeline of oxygen. I coughed, gagging as the icy water from my throat sprayed onto my face and chest. I flailed my arms and legs, praying that I could swim away from—where am I—in a Glieser underwater prison?

  Air. Air! Several deep, deep breaths before I could see beyond the fog that blanketed my eyes.

  Surrounded. No, not by Gliesers. Humanoids. Humans. Uniformed humans.

  “Rani Gaasoos! Mugahemin!”

  Could not understand even one word, but their harsh tone made it clear I wasn’t a welcome guest.

  “Heya askareya! Fen el asakyer?” Desperate for a translator, I looked at my bound wrists and bare fingers. Not a trace of my black market Ergal.

  “Rani Gaasoos! Biyahagemo! Fel el askari eltani! Enta hat moot!" A middle-aged man whose buzz cut was grizzled with gray raised the tin bucket in his hands and held it a few inches from my nose. I felt the first drops of freezing water sprinkle on my lips, and turned my head to avoid the onrushing stream.

  “Wait!” I cried. My arms fought to free themselves from the rough ropes that held them trapped. I bucked my breastbone against the tight cords around my ribs and tossed my head from side to side, hoping to avoid the liquid drenching my nose and throat once again. To no avail. The curtain of water flowed into my windpipe, blocking out the precious air once more. Coughing and gasping, I heard the cry “Gaasoos!” again—and then the darkness fell.

  * * *

  “Hurry!”

  I didn’t recognize the voice whispering in my ear. As the fog retreated, I could barely make out brown tresses cascading over olive-skinned arms furiously striving to loosen my bonds.

  “Come on. Help me undo your legs. John can only hold these monsters off for so long.”

  John. Monsters. I shook my head, and then my newly freed wrists and hands. John. My brother. The Professor. “Aliyah!”

  “Shhh.” Dr. Malamud reached for my hand and pulled me to a sitting position on the frigid metal table. “We have to go.”

  I untied the last of the remaining ropes and quickly scanned the room. Cracked tiles on the walls, rusted oxygen tanks, and lifeless TVs. Either an archaic O.R. or a very run-down spa. “Where are we?” I asked as I hopped off the table and leaned back against it for a moment to steady my shaking legs. Chilled, my fingers buried themselves in the warmth of the fleece I was still wearing under my toga. The fleece! If it was still here, we might be able to escape somehow without those Ergals.

  “An operatory of some kind, I’d guess. We heard you through the ventilator shafts.” She pointed to an open vent near the corner of the dirty room. “This way.”

  “Really?” I said, trying to avoid rubbing against spattered blood on the mold-caked frame as, on all fours, I squeezed into the cylindrical shaft behind her. “I thought these were only big enough to crawl through in the movies.”

  Dr. Malamud turned so I could see her shrug. “That sounds like something John said, too. He didn’t have time to explain what a “moo-veez” is, though.” She gestured for us to keep moving through the narrow tunnel, which was dimly lit through the cracks in its soldered joints.

  “Is John okay? And, Spud?”

  “We owe our reprieve to your friend,” she admitted. “As soon as the electric charge flashed blue, he leaped onto the back of the soldier that attacked you and began to choke him around the neck. The other soldier tried to come to his compatriot’s defense, but—and I don’t know how he did it—John managed to flip him onto his back and knock him unconscious.”

  A frown crossed her face. “John reassured me that both men would be fine in a few hours. What the soldiers did was wrong, of course, but I didn’t want them to be permanently hurt.”

  I’m glad the Professor couldn’t see my eye roll through the back of her head. Peace was something she’d been lucky to enjoy, but, for a historian, she was awfully naïve.

  “John and your friend tried to carry you back to the warehouse, but when we heard sirens approaching, your friend insisted that we make a run for it so that we could find help. I told John to stay with your friend, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. She paused and peered off to her left. “I be
lieve we need to travel down this way.”

  I followed her on hands and knees, feeling clammy moisture seep through my clothing with each squishy step. I didn’t want to think about what exactly it was that I was crawling through.

  “We made it back into the building,” said Dr. Malamud “and hid in the dark until the sirens had passed. When we went out to look for your friend, he was gone.”

  They had Spud. Damn! This whole mess was getting worse by the minute. And I was ultimately responsible. Damn!

  “John and I searched the surrounding grounds, but all we could see was more rubbish. We returned the warehouse to look for anything that might help.”

  Dr. Malamud paused again at a fork in the ventilation system, and then, this time, chose a path to the right. I followed, my hands and knees chilled by their path through the dank detritus.

  “John discovered a subterranean passage. We must have traveled down at least three storeys. Then we heard the voices—and yours--below us,” Dr. Malamud went on. “I could not make out too many of the words, but I recognized a few in archaic Arabic. Apparently they thought you were a Persian spy.”

  I snorted. “One more round of that water torture, and I might’ve been ready to confess.”

  “John wasn’t going to let them get that chance. He said he’d create a diversion to draw them away, so that I could come and get you.”

  Worser and worser. I didn’t want John to fall into the soldiers’ clutches either. I’d done all this to save him, not to lose him.

  “He told me he’d try to disable your interrogators—temporarily, of course--and would meet us at the terminus of this shaft,” She pointed at a rim of faint illumination far off in the distance.

  “Ha,” I had to smile. Temporarily. And John as the light at the end of the tunnel. Now, that was irony.

  Energized by our goal, we stepped up our crawling pace, sloshing steadily in the moist mud until we reached the ventilator grill.

  Dr. Malamud maneuvered her feet forward and aimed them to kick out the grill.

  “No!” I whispered. “We don’t want to draw anyone’s attention. First we make sure nobody’s out there.”

  I watched her peek through the slats and shake her head.

  “I can’t see anyone.” Obvious disappointment in her voice.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find him. Grab the grill with your fingers and hold on to it. We have to lower it slowly—if it drops, it’ll clatter.”

  The Professor nodded, and eased her delicate fingers along the struts, dislodging the vent. She placed it between her legs and gripped it tightly as she jumped out of the shaft onto the concrete floor a few inches below.

  I followed her, and replaced the grill—in case we needed a way out, no point in advertising this route. The room in which we had arrived was empty, its walls stark gray concrete decorated only with colorful graffiti in Arabic script. Buried so deeply below ground, the room was eerily quiet; we could hear only our own short breaths. A wooden door in the far corner leaned ajar. We eased over toward it and peeked out—no one was in the dim hallway either.

  I waved for Dr. Malamud to follow and tiptoed out into the passageway. She opened her lips to speak, but I pressed my finger on mine to signal silence, hoping the gesture was understandable in this alternate universe. John hadn’t met us yet as he’d promised, so we had to be very careful.

  As we turned a corner towards an unlit hall, the Professor tapped me on the shoulder. I spun to face her, and saw her expression shift from worry to alarm. A gurgle in her throat was drowned out by the buzz of another taser, and, stunned, I fell into the blackness of unconsciousness once more.

  * * *

  Thank heavens the fog didn’t come with rain--this time. I woke up expecting Round 2 of Niagara Falls over my face, but, as my vision cleared, all I could see was a ceiling that badly needed a bath.

  Judging by my own odoriferous condition, so did I. I just hoped it wasn’t going to be in torrents of windpipe-choking water.

  “She’s coming around.”

  John. John’s voice, behind me. “John!” I sat up, fighting off a wave of nausea. “Thanks for the rescue.”

  “Wish I could take the credit,” he began as as I scooted 180 degrees to face him, catching a better glimpse of our surroundings. Uh-oh.

  For a technologically advanced society, the jail cell in which we were trapped was brutally primitive. Standard dirt floor, damp stone walls, tiny window blocked by thick bars, two bored guards chewing gum while playing board games on a tablet, under the flickering light of an oil lamp.

  We’d been stripped of all our remaining belongings, as well as our shoes and clothes. All of our clothes. While I was thrilled to see my brother alive, I had no desire to see him living only in his birthday suit. My eyes quickly fell on Dr. Malamud’s well-proportioned curves, which made me feel like I needed to eat a pizza—or three. A pang of hunger reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything since, oh, a thousand years ago.

  My treasured Somalderis had been “appropriated”, too, and was now taunting us from beyond our reach, cushioning the knobby frame of one of the underfed guards at the table as he sat on a stiff wooden chair. Damn! Worsest and worsest!

  I’m not a prude, but even if we could spring open the bars of our cell, not having clothes would sure discourage us from making a run for it. Nevertheless, as a trained catascope, I swallowed my anger, and tried the bars, the window, the walls, and the floor, looking for a possible opening.

  “Already checked, Sis,” said John. “No such luck.”

  “Two eyes are better than one,” I muttered, aiming to keep my own two eyes away from John and the Professor. I spied a hole in one corner of the cell floor. Inching closer I realized it was only a few feet deep and held the pee and poop of, I guessed, the previous tenants. Frustrated, I added my contribution and moved back over towards the couple.

  Still keeping my gaze averted, I asked, “Any sign of Spud?”

  John sounded hesitant. “I’m afraid not. But we’ll find him as soon as we get out of here.”

  “Soon would be good,” I returned, keeping my eyes glued to the others’ faces. John should never have left Spud behind.

  “I’m so sorry,” John whispered to the Professor, “to get you into this mess.” I noticed his own eyes were focusing a bit lower than her, uh, face.

  That did it. “You’re so sorry. You realize it’s her fault we’re not in the time we’re supposed to be!” I exploded.

  “And it’s your fault we’re here in the first place,” John growled.

  Furious, I shouted, “Yes. Yes it is. All my fault. I should never ever have tried to rescue you!” My voice cracked. “I should’ve left you to die alone.”

  I moved back over towards the shithole, wondering if it was big enough for my brother to fall in.

  Dr. Malamud patted John on the shoulder, “She’s right, you know. I am the one who sabotaged your plans. I could’ve waved the mysterious travelers through, and returned to the parchments I have been restoring to learn about the worlds of my ancestors. But who could resist an opportunity to explore these worlds in person.” Her warm brown eyes focused on John. “And perhaps part of me was hoping I’d have the opportunity to get to know you better.”

  John met her gaze and moved in closer. I didn’t bother to hide my distaste. “Well, it sure looks like you’ll have plenty of time to do that. And if you two hook up, you can even give me and the guards a show.” I tilted my head to indicate that we now had an interested and leering audience outside our cell.

  Then it hit me. “Actually, that’s a great idea.” Surprised, John and the Professor both turned towards me, and I quickly moved my arms to cover my lanky torso. I nodded at the guards once again. “How ‘bout I give them a show!”

  John’s frown turned into a blanch. He slid over and stood between me and the cell bars. “No, Shiloh, I won’t stand for it.”

  It took me a second to figure out why he seemed so upset—he’d thought I’d
meant to use my body to achieve our escape. “God, no, John. Ugh, yick. I always swore I wouldn’t do that in Hollywood to save my life, and I’m not going to do it here either.” I lowered my voice. “But since we are in deep doo-doo…”

  I took a few steps backward, hoping I’d measured correctly. “No, don’t touch me!” I shot my hands out, pretending to push John away.

  A few more steps and I was at the rim of the hole. Waving my hands to appear as if I was losing my balance, I “fell” down into the hole. Double yick.

  The layer of stinking feces was a couple of feet thick, and splattered onto my chest and shoulders. Fortunately, my head and neck were above the ground line. I forced a smile and pretended to be hurt and stuck.

  “I can’t move! Help me!” I directed at the guards, as my team, playing their parts, gestured for help. Aside from some loud laughter, however, my cries and condition didn’t elicit any altruistic moves from our uniformed protectors, who turned back to their board games after a few moments. Damn. Even if they didn’t understand English—or Anglish—I thought my plea had been clear.

  Well, then. On to Plan B. “What’s this? Under my feet?” I shouted, pretending to reach down to pick the “this” up. “Oh, my God, it’s a gold ring.” I remembered the word ‘gold’ in Aramaic, and repeated it in Latin, just to be sure this message got through.

  It did. The greedy guards put down their tablets and headed for the cell door, weapons drawn. As I’d hoped, they fought about who’d unlock the door and enter first to claim the treasure I was using as bait.

  I was ready. As soon as they neared, ordering me to give up the gold, I aimed and fired a handful of poop at each guard’s face. Bulls-eyes. The guards screamed and clutched at their lids in agony, giving John the opportunity to overpower them and knock them out, then grab their tasers. I crawled up out of the hole, and helped John and Aliyah tie the men’s arms and legs with their belts and stuff a piece of soiled shirt (and you know what) in each guard’s mouth as a muffler.