by Cole, Myke
‘But he’s okay? What about Desda? Is she with him?’ Stanley’s voice rose, the words coming faster.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Britton. I don’t know who that is. And I can’t speak for your son. I don’t know where he is or how he is now.’
‘Desda is my wife. What happened to Oscar?’ His concern increased Bookbinder’s trust. The man cared about his family, and Bookbinder knew that ache well.
‘He . . .’ Bookbinder paused as he tried to figure out how to explain it. After a moment, he decided on the truth. ‘He’s a fugitive. We had him, but he escaped. I don’t know where he is now. But we really need to get him back. Maybe you can help with that.’
Stanley shook his head ruefully. ‘The last time we saw each other we . . . we had words. It was bad.’
He looked up at Bookbinder, his eyes wet. ‘I just . . . I just want to talk to him.’
Bookbinder nodded. ‘I’ve got two girls, Mr Britton. I can’t wait to get back to them. Come with us, and we’ll try to reunite you. You might be talking to your son through bars, but you can still talk.’
Stanley paused. ‘Back to your base? You’re doing a patrol out here?’
‘Not exactly. It’s an A-to-B run. But we’ll be getting back there eventually.’
Vasuki-Kai hissed, waving his arms. ‘His Highness says he will not travel with this animal. This Saala kutta attacked his Bandhav and this is the same as an attack on his own royal person. He commands you to shoot him,’ Dhatri translated.
Bookbinder turned and stabbed a finger at the naga. ‘Tell His Highness that I respectfully decline. This man is a citizen of the United States of America. As far as I know, I am the ranking officer from that country in this entire plane of existence. That makes this man my ward and my responsibility. We will not shoot him. We will protect him. With our lives if necessary.’
Dhatri hesitated.
‘Tell him!’ Bookbinder said.
Dhatri turned and translated haltingly. The naga prince’s heads weaved an irritated dance, and he paused, several of the heads locking gazes with Bookbinder. After a tense moment, Vasuki-Kai hissed a single syllable and turned away, Dhatri following.
He turned back to Stanley. ‘I’m afraid I have to insist you come with us, Mr Britton. For the reasons I just stated.’
Stanley seemed even less impressed than Vasuki-Kai. ‘Can you get me back to my wife and son?’
‘I can’t promise anything, but you have a better chance of finding him with us than just staying here.’
Stanley thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Okay.’
Bookbinder sighed. ‘Outstanding. We’re in something of a hurry. Is there anything you need from your . . . home . . . before we go?’
Stanley nodded. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’
Sharp, ever practical, halted his jog up the hillside with a touch on his elbow. ‘Sir, we’re low on supplies. You got any food? We also need water. Nasty stuff’ll do. We can clean it.’
Stanley nodded. ‘Hope you like devil-horse jerky. I know of a spring not far from here. Just give me a minute.’
He disappeared inside the cave and returned a moment later, a hide bag tied across his chest. He carried several bundles of dried meat that gave off a pungent, smoky odor and distributed them.
He paused. ‘This run is dangerous?’
Bookbinder nodded. ‘It has been so far.’
‘Then I don’t suppose I can prevail on you for a firearm?’ He tapped the sword, now slung as his side. ‘This is kind of old fashioned.’
Vasuki-Kai hissed what Bookbinder assumed was a concerted objection. He thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘You’re a civilian, sir. I can’t just go dispensing you weapons. We’ll keep you covered.’
Stanley gave him a hard look. ‘I was a full bird like you. I’ve got more ops under my belt than—’
‘Sir,’ Bookbinder cut him off, ‘I am not going to stand here and compare dicks with you. This is my team and my mission. You want to get back to your son? Let’s get moving.’
They locked eyes for a long moment. That might have made him uncomfortable before, but Bookbinder was having none of it now. He held Stanley’s gaze until the man looked away. ‘All right,’ he said.
‘Glad we got that cleared up,’ Bookbinder said. ‘Welcome to the outfit. Now let’s go find that spring.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Fob Sarpakavu
This levy and seawall system was built in partnership between the SOC and the US Army Corps of Engineers in response to Lake Pontchartrain’s rising water levels post-Katrina. Scientists estimate that without it, the City of New Orleans would have been completely submerged years ago. Just one of the ways Terramantic Engineering is working hard to keep America safe! Please check out www. magicinaction.gov to learn more.
– Text from a sign on the Lake Pontchartrain
Causeway
Stanley was true to his word. Five kilometers north of the cave, they arrived at a kidney-shaped pool of water, bubbling between a broken tumble of rocks. Stanley led them there effortlessly, walking smooth and silent like Sharp, his eyes alert and his sword drawn. Bookbinder relaxed a bit seeing the man prove trustworthy, but kept a close eye on him. He doubted that any man could have survived out here on his own for as long as Stanley Britton had and not be at least a little crazy. Vasuki-Kai’s assessment of Stanley was clear. He always kept between Stanley and Dhatri, never allowing fewer than three heads to watch him at all times.
Sharp pulled Bookbinder aside once they reached the spring. ‘Good call on the gun, sir.’
‘You think he can be trusted?’
The sergeant was pensive. ‘Retired Marine colonel? Probably, but he’s got a crazy eye.’
‘You’ve got a crazy eye.’ Bookbinder smirked. ‘You ever look in a mirror, Sharp?’
Sharp shrugged. ‘Not a whole lot of call for mirrors out here, sir.’
‘How the hell did he survive out here on his own?’ We’ve lost two, and we’re a highly trained and well-equipped outfit, with a naga to boot. The thought of those two lost men plagued him. He knew that the SOF operators thought of themselves as independent, but this was his team and his mission. Of all the times he’d dreamed of command, he’d never imagined what it would be like to lose the people who worked for him.
Sharp took a quick look at Stanley. ‘Wiry son of a bitch, sir. Tough. Recon’s no joke. He’s a fighter.’
‘So were Anan and Fillion.’
‘Don’t do that to yourself, sir. People die in this line of work. That’s just how it is.’
Talking about it made Bookbinder feel worse. He changed the subject. ‘Well, you just keep an eye on our guest there,’ he said, gesturing to Stanley. ‘I can hardly deny him a sword, but if he tries anything . . .’
Sharp nodded and tapped his carbine’s trigger guard. ‘Got it, sir.’
Stanley was eerily silent as they washed themselves as much as they could stand in the cold air and filled their water bladders. With the boomers gone, they saved their decontamination tablets, trusting in the fresh-flowing spring to be clean. Bookbinder had to admit that he was happy just to drink the stuff fresh from the ground. The boomers completely sterilized the water they touched, leaving it tasting . . . bland. Freshwater had a metallic thrill to it, especially in the enhancing air of the Source.
Stanley kept his eyes on the horizon and his weapon close. Bookbinder stood amazed by his self-possession. The man has been stuck out here for months, hasn’t seen another person in all that time. I would be bubbling over with questions, desperate for the chance to talk to someone. Anyone. But he’s more concerned with overwatch. I guess that’s what kept him alive.
Bookbinder judged the setting sun and gave the order to make camp. ‘We might as well take advantage of the water while we’re this close to it.’
As Vasuki-Kai took up his fan-headed watch, Stanley finally relaxed, grounding his pack, never keeping his hand far from his sword. He washed carefully, giving little
heed to the cold. He gestured to Sharp’s pocket, where the sergeant’s knife peeked out above its securing clip. ‘That sharp?’
Sharp nodded. ‘You could shave with it.’
Stanley smiled. ‘Precisely what I had in mind.’
Sharp tossed it to him, and Stanley set to work. An hour later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he finally emerged from his crouch, his face and head completely shaven. The wild man was gone. In his place was a handsome older gentleman; distinguished, even regal. Bookbinder could see the Marine colonel he had been.
‘That’s more like it,’ Stanley said. ‘Kind of hard to keep a blade as sharp as it should be out here.’
‘You look good,’ Bookbinder said.
‘I feel good,’ Stanley said. Then he paused, frowning.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I never said that. I never really said that enough to anyone.’
Bookbinder nodded. ‘We’re all in this together.’
‘So, what’s been happening in my absence? Walsh still president?’
Bookbinder sat on a low flat rock beside him. ‘Last time I checked. It’s been a while since I phoned home.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Bookbinder did. The wall of Stanley’s reticence broke, and he interrogated Bookbinder long into the night about the state of things on the Home Plane, the FOB, any scrap of detail about his family. He told Bookbinder how his son had gated him here, how he’d survived, dug out a home in that cave, resigned himself to a life of solitude, scratching to survive.
‘God was teaching me a lesson,’ Stanley said. ‘I was a hard-ass before this all happened. I guess I still am, but I get it now. It thawed my heart. And you know what I’m thinking now?’
Bookbinder looked a question at him.
‘I’m thinking God sent you to give me a second chance. I think he’s done with this phase of my learning. Now it’s time for me to make amends. I’m going to start with Oscar. Then Desda. I’m ready.’
‘But he gated you out here. The papers were saying it was murder.’
Stanley was silent for a moment. ‘I won’t lie. I’m . . . angry. He put me here, and it’s been a tough row to hoe, but there’s . . . some things.’
Bookbinder was silent. He had enough experience with taciturn types like Sharp now to know that was the best way to encourage them to talk. Eventually, Stanley went on. ‘He reached for my hand, as I fell through the gate. He tried to grab me and missed. He shouted a warning. I think it was an accident. When I see him, I’ll know the right of it. And you’re going to make that happen for me.’ He jerked his chin in Bookbinder’s direction.
Bookbinder nodded. ‘Happy to help.’
‘So, you going to tell me where we’re going? The base is cut off and surrounded by hostiles. We’re just running?’
‘No,’ Bookbinder said. ‘The Indians have a FOB a few days from here. Dhatri says they have a Portamancer of their own. Without your son, it’s the only way home for us.’
Stanley shook his head. ‘I don’t believe this. To think I was nearby not one, but two human outposts out here, and I never knew.’
‘No reason you should. You don’t exactly have GPS.’
‘Or even a map.’ He paused. ‘We’re not heading east, are we?’
Bookbinder thought about it. ‘Due north, I think. You’d have to ask Sharp. He’s the one with the built-in compass.’
‘East is tough,’ Stanley said. ‘I struck out in that direction a few times, but it’s not safe.’
‘That’s something coming from you. What’s going on out there?’
‘Monsters. Big, black, horned things. Teeth like knives. I tangled with one once. It almost got me.’
‘You killed it?’ Bookbinder asked.
‘I hurt it. At least I think I did. They bleed smoke. They’ve started ranging farther and farther since they got a new queen. I was thinking about pulling stakes anyway for that reason. Cave wouldn’t be safe much longer.’
‘Queen?’ Bookbinder asked.
‘I saw her once when I was ranging. Pretty woman. Looks like a human, but don’t you let it fool you. She’s a walking corpse. Those things adore her.’
Bookbinder frowned. ‘If there’s another person out there . . .’
Stanley’s expression hardened. He put a hand on Bookbinder’s forearm. ‘Leave it, Colonel. You’ve got to trust me on this one. I’ve seen her. She looks like a human. Pretty one, too, but there’s nothing human about her. She’d kill you just as soon as look at you. She’s got nasty, rotting magic. You tangle with her, you die. I nearly did.’
Bookbinder thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘Good,’ Stanley said. ‘North sounds right as rain.’
A few days later, FOB Sarpakavu hove into view in the greatest anticlimax of Bookbinder’s life. No fanfare, no cresting a ridge-line or fording a river to see their prize suddenly before them. They just trudged along, exhausted and bored, and there it was.
The distinction between the Indian Army’s dwellings and the Naga Raja’s palace compound was painfully clear. Bookbinder guessed that the palace and Indian Army encampment around it were easily the same size as FOB Frontier. The palace rose, grand and beautiful, thick white towers arcing gracefully into billowing onion domes topped with brass finials that glinted in the sun. Thick walls, far more businesslike, linked them, sporting rough-looking crenellations and narrow arrow slits. Beautiful scrollwork graced nearly every surface, visible even at a distance. Bookbinder couldn’t make out the details of the intricate carvings from so far away, but he guessed they might depict serpents in some way.
The Indian FOB sprawled around the outside of the defensive ring wall, a shantytown by comparison; little more than a collection of cheap military tents huddled against the grander stone. A vehicle park was visible below one tower, humvees and tanks side by side. Dots scurried to and fro around them. People, Bookbinder realized, his heart leaping. Real, honest-to-God humans.
Vasuki-Kai crossed his arms and hissed in satisfaction. ‘His Highness welcomes you to Sarpakavu Raajbhavan, the home of his lordship Raja Ajathashatru the Fifth. Great King of the World, Uniter of the Spheres,’ Dhatri translated. ‘It is by his will that you are brought here.’
Bookbinder stood for a long time, trying to soak in the sight. ‘It’s straight out of Kipling.’
Dhatri frowned. ‘Hardly.’
‘Sorry,’ Bookbinder said. ‘I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s just . . . it’s very storybook.’
‘Wait until you see the rest of it, sir.’ Dhatri’s pride was evident.
Sharp chucked Bookbinder’s elbow. ‘Congratulations, sir.’
Bookbinder looked over at him. Woon and Archer stood beside him, beaming.
‘What are you all smiling at?’
‘You did it, sir,’ Woon said. ‘We’re here. We made it.’
Bookbinder was so absorbed with the sight that the realization hadn’t yet dawned on him. Now it did, and pride flushed upward through his throat, making his chest swell. ‘Yes, I suppose we did.’
‘Huah, sir,’ Sharp said.
Bookbinder found himself embarrassed by the praise. Two dead. Besides, what the hell did I really do? Nothing. Just pointed in a direction and made everyone walk. It’s the rest of you who did the work.
He coughed, nodding. ‘All right, enough of that crap. We’re here. Now let’s finish the mission.’
Sharp nodded, gesturing toward the palace. Two nagas approached, Indian soldiers trotting along at their sides. They were smaller than Vasuki-Kai, with fewer heads and arms, their scales only two or three colors against the rainbow that covered him. They carried huge bows, taller than a man. Bookbinder guessed it would take more than one set of hands to draw them. The Indian soldiers carried carbines of the same manufacture as Dhatri’s.
The naga and their Bandhavs prostrated themselves at the sight of Vasuki-Kai, the humans touching their foreheads to the ground and the naga spreading their many heads in a fan a
cross it beside them. Vasuki-Kai acknowledged them with the barest incline of his heads, hissing in greeting. After they rose, the naga hissed back and forth for some time, heads shaking, tongues darting, and hands gesturing at the humans several times. The Indian soldiers clapped Dhatri on the shoulder and spoke with him in Hindi in hushed tones. Their eyes flicked to the Americans several times as they spoke, and Dhatri seemed to be placating them, patting the air with his palms.
We’re not supposed to be here, Bookbinder thought.
At last, the naga gestured to the Americans to follow, and the group fell in at the rear of a procession that made its way toward the Indian military-tent encampment, Vasuki-Kai at the head.
After living on MREs for so long, Bookbinder salivated as the smell of fresh-cooking food wafted toward him. Familiar sounds began to reach him; the grumbling of internal-combustion engines, the dull thrumming of generators. Industrial sounds, human sounds. Normality. He had to stop himself from running toward them.
Sharp began to frown as they went. He punched Stanley’s shoulder and pointed ahead of them. Bookbinder followed his line of sight to the ground around the human encampment. He blinked. Then blinked again. The ground was writhing.
Snakes. Snakes of such variety they boggled the mind. Long and short, thick and fat, all the colors of the rainbow. Striped, spotted, monocolored. Bookbinder spotted some with horns, some with tiny, vestigial wings. A few had heads at both ends of their long, sinuous bodies. They were draped over every surface. They cavorted on top of the humvees and slithered around the bases of the tent poles. Bookbinder looked up at the palace ring wall to see them sunning themselves in the arrow slits and sliding atop the crenellations. He stifled a shudder, already guessing what the naga’s attitude toward their lesser cousins might be. The Indians were stepping gingerly as they went, careful to move around them.
‘Ugh,’ Woon breathed. ‘Sir . . .’
‘Major,’ Bookbinder said, his tone low and commanding, ‘I don’t care if fear of snakes is the greatest phobia you’ve ever had. You will get over it right now. Do you understand me?’
Woon swallowed, grimacing. ‘Yes, sir.’