by Arnot, C. S.
Aiden felt nothing.
Strange.
Rifle shots heralded Tovmas’ arrival as he dispatched the wounded bandits. He moved around the end of the truck like the soldier he was. Behind him came Nardos, Solomon and three other men Aiden recognised from Ashtarak. Vika came last, unarmed, looking at the devastation with a hard face.
“Aiden,” said Tovmas, smiling a little. “You got him.”
Aiden said nothing. He was still holding the pistol. It felt good in his hand.
Vika looked at Prosper’s corpse now. “His arm…” she breathed.
“You did well, Nardos,” said Tovmas, patting the young man on the back. “Ashtarak’s top gun!”
He nodded, but his eyes were distant.
On the other side of the vehicles, Fredrick sat by Ileana amidst the carnage. He was cutting the cords around her wrists when Aiden came back. When Ileana saw him, she threw her arms around him and clung to him silently.
They doused the corpses in ‘nol and burned them in a great pyre. The rain arrived, and though it didn’t slow the powerful fire it dampened the grass around it and made certain that the flames wouldn’t spread. After a while, the fuel tank of the nearest truck burst and the fire reared up into the air like a living thing.
Aiden and the others watched from the shelter of the cargo hold. He wondered if the ‘nol would be enough to completely burn the bodies, or if it would just char and cook them. It was hard to imagine, though, that anything could stay intact in a fire so intense. He could feel the heat on his face, even from over a hundred metres away.
The rain pattered on the fuselage of the Iolaire, mingling with the sound of Tovmas and Solomon’s discussions. Solomon was very interested in Tovmas’ plans for a unified Armenia. Tovmas chatted away happily about it, eager to share his dreams.
Nardos, though, sat quietly with the other militiamen. He seemed impatient to be away. Aiden spoke to him briefly, asked him how his sister was. Nardos forced a smile for him, and told him she was fine. Enjoying her freedom again.
Vika and Fredrick sat with Ileana, talking to her, Vika with her arm around her shoulders. They were comforting her, asking where she wanted to go.
On the flight back south to Armenia, they stopped only once. It was the place where Malkasar’s wagon had finally ground to a halt, where Aiden and Ileana had been taken. The wagon had been stripped of everything valuable. The old man’s body was still in its seat, slumped over the steering wheel. Aiden and Solomon carried it into the hold of the Iolaire and covered it with a blanket. Ileana stood by, tears streaming down her face, though she didn’t make a sound. The girl was tough.
In Ashtarak the ramp was lowered again to let the Armenians out. Aiden noticed nobody came to celebrate their return this time. He wondered if he should go and visit Sona, but he couldn’t bring himself to. It was maybe better if she didn’t see him.
At the bottom of the ramp, Tovmas turned to Aiden and Fredrick. “You are sure you do not want to stay? An aircraft like yours would help us greatly.”
Fredrick shook his head. “I’m afraid we’ve already accepted another job offer,” he said.
Tovmas looked at Solomon then, smiling slightly. “Ah yes, I have been told. You must do this then, for the good of us all. I would pray to the dragons for you, but I think that maybe you are dragons.” His eyes flickered up at the tail gun.
Aiden actually smiled at that. He took Tovmas’ outstretched hand and shook it. “Take care, old man,” he said. Then he shook Nardos’ hand, pulling close into a short, manly embrace.
“Good luck, you western dog,” said Nardos. “Get them for us.”
“We’ll try,” replied Aiden. “Tell Sona… Tell her I will see her again.”
“I will, brother.”
Vika was holding her father, saying words that Aiden couldn’t make out. Finally they pulled apart, and she held only his hands.
“You are sure this is what you want?” Tovmas asked her.
“Yes. If it can really be done, then I have to help.”
Her father nodded then, letting her go.
The ramp closed, and Aiden was in his turret again. He watched as Tovmas, Nardos and the others backed off when the engines started. The Iolaire lifted off gently, rising high above the town. He noticed the addition of an autocannon near the landing pad, manned by a couple of militiamen. Ashtarak was learning.
On the eastern edge of town sat the blackened remains of the Sokol and the ruined marine carrier. Aiden wondered what the militia had done with Koikov, if he had survived the fighting.
Soon, as the Iolaire cruised northwards, they were leaving even the gleaming twin peaks of Aragats behind them. Ashtarak was just a smudge in the hazy distance now, fading fast. The ground beneath was becoming hillier as they approached the Georgian border. Aiden thought of the frantic journey north he’d made in the little car, not three days ago. It had taken so long to cover the distance. Now it just slid past, kilometres below, eaten up by the speed of the flight.
“Sly bastard never did pay us,” said Fredrick over the intercom, suddenly. Aiden was shaken from his daydreams.
“True, but Ashtarak took a few hits for us, if we’re honest,” he replied. “And he did come to help us today, for free.”
Fredrick mumbled something inaudible.
“And you did shag his daughter,” added Aiden. He was sure Vika was in the hold, so she wouldn’t hear.
“I suppose I did.”
Aiden could hear Solomon laughing over the other headset. “Sly dog,” he said, as it subsided.
“What is ‘shag’?” came Ileana’s voice suddenly. She must have been standing in the cockpit too, on the spare headset. Solomon’s laughter redoubled. Fredrick joined in.
Then, for the first time since Stepanavan, Aiden laughed. He laughed long and loud, just because it felt good. A tear rolled down his creased cheek.
An awkward explanation was given, a joint effort by Fredrick and Aiden, all the while underpinned by Solomon’s giggling.
After it seemed like she understood, she said, “But why would he pay you for that?”
Aiden thought he would die laughing.
Soon they reached Tbilisi, and Fredrick brought the Iolaire down. Teimuraz himself greeted them on the tarmac, sweating as usual in the humid weather. Where Armenia had been a dry heat, Georgia’s skies were dark with rain clouds and the closeness was oppressive.
“You survived, I see!” he announced, looking alternately at them and the weather above. “Come inside, I fear it is about to rain!”
Ileana seemed reluctant to leave the Iolaire and her father’s body. When the thunder started overhead she came along with Aiden, who had waited for her by the foot of the ramp.
They made it inside just as the first fat drops began to fall, and by the time they had reached Teimuraz’ office several floors up, the rain was torrential. It fell straight down in curtains past the office window, obscuring the distant end of the airport in wet fuzz.
“Well, it’s about time we had some rain, I suppose,” said Teimuraz, gazing morosely out. “It does make everything around here just a little bit more difficult, though.” He looked up at a freighter coming in to land vertically. Bright lights guided it down to the tarmac; shining beacons in the grey.
Teimuraz turned to the room then. He smiled warmly. “You must be Ileana, my dear,” he said, coming forward. “I am Teimuraz.”
She nodded, and shook his outstretched hand. She tried to smile, but it faltered. Aiden put a hand on her shoulder then. It must have all been terrifying for her; surrounded by strangers, her father gone.
“We have to contact her brother,” said Aiden. “He runs a freight ship to Poti. Ileana and her father were on their way to meet him.”
“So he is in Poti?” asked Teimuraz.
“He might be.” Aiden looked at Ileana. She nodded.
“Then I will contact the Poti harbour authority, and get a message to your brother. What is his name?”
�
�Marius. Marius Capraru,” she said. “His ship is the Cristina.”
Teimuraz nodded and flipped open a monitor on his desk. He pressed a key and said something in Georgian, repeating the name of the ship and passing the instructions on to somebody else. Then he closed the monitor over.
“We shall hear soon enough if your brother is there.”
Ileana nodded, and Aiden squeezed her shoulder.
30.
Heading Three-One-Four
Vika was sitting next to Fredrick in the cockpit, since Solomon had decided that it was her turn and had retreated down into the hold. She reached across to lay her hand on Fredrick’s knee. He smiled at her sideways, glancing at her before looking back out at the sea of clouds and blue sky ahead. The intercom was quiet. Aiden hadn’t spoken for a while, and Vika wondered if he had fallen asleep. Probably not, she decided, since he did seem to take some pride in his job.
The dark haired Scot was definitely cast from a different mould to Fredrick. He was quieter, less likely to be caught smiling. Surly. But then, she knew he’d been through a lot these last few days. More than Fredrick had, at least. Somehow he seemed to take the brunt of everything they did. It was as if his stockier build attracted violence more readily than Fredrick’s. Or maybe he was just less lucky. Whatever it was, she never felt quite at ease around him. She wouldn’t have gone so far as to say he was unstable, just...angry. She could sense it in him, coiled and compressed deep down, and she told herself she did not envy the person who finally set him off.
But a tiny part of her wanted to push him, just to see what happened. She knew she could. She had already seen the power she could have over men. The thought excited her. She’d felt his eyes on her, felt his desire like all the rest. But with Aiden there was jealousy too: envy for his friend. She knew she was only the stimulus that brought it bubbling to the surface.
That was where the trigger lay, she knew.
She squeezed Fredrick’s knee lightly, and smiled at him when he glanced over.
“Do you think she’ll be all right?” said Aiden suddenly, through the intercom.
Fredrick nodded to nobody in particular. “She is with her brother now, Aiden,” he reassured him. “She’ll be fine.”
That was unexpected, thought Vika.
She hadn’t imagined that Aiden really cared for the young girl. When they’d left her in Poti, he hadn’t even said so much as goodbye. He didn’t say a word to the girl’s brother, just kept his eyes on the ground or the aircraft or the ships, letting Solomon do the talking. Maybe it is just guilt, she thought. Guilt for getting the girl’s father killed.
And so they should feel guilty: he and Fredrick both. They had brought more death to Ashtarak than any raiders ever did. She was grateful for the part they had played in her rescue, but the price had been too high. Too many good people, her people, were dead. Ashtarak might never recover. For that, she cursed the westerners. She cursed them for the evil they had brought, and she cursed them for the debt she now owed them. How was she ever to pay them back, for one or the other?
Vika hoped that Solomon was telling the truth about the second ship, this Enkidu. If it existed, and it really could be used like he said it could, then she might just get the vengeance her people’s blood demanded.
She had dreamt the night before of the Gilgamesh, though she’d never seen it in reality. In her dream it looked like the drawings of the Enkidu, only larger and somehow darker. It had gone down in flames, falling like a limp, dead thing, to smash and shatter on the hard ground below. She’d known it was her doing as she’d watched it. She felt powerful again, alive, just like when she’d killed Koikov’s man with the tiny blade. The Gilgamesh would die just as easily, she knew, killed by something small and unseen. The Enkidu.
She mouthed it silently. Enkidu. It felt good on her tongue. She’d first heard the word only a few days ago, but to her it meant justice. Vengeance. Blood for blood.
Fredrick was leaning forward, looking out of the cockpit windows. He was searching for something. Soon a break in the cloud appeared, and through it he spotted what he wanted to see.
“The Strait of Kerch,” he announced. “We’ve reached the Sea of Azov. Time to change our course a little.”
The Iolaire banked right gently, and Vika watched as the horizon sloped and began to turn. It was strange how she couldn’t feel it.
“No satellites then?” said Aiden.
Fredrick glanced at one of the screens on the console. “None. I’m going to give the Crimea an extra wide berth I think, just to be sure.”
“You sure it’s Kerch below us?”
“Not at all. That’s why I’m turning wide.”
Vika leaned out then, craning to look up through the glass, as if she could spot a satellite by herself. She knew those machines flew much higher than aircraft: high above the air, always falling but never coming down. Her father had told her that once the sky had been full of them, before the war, blinking away in the dark and cold of the void. Most were still there but they were dead now, or else smashed into thousands of pieces and left to slowly kill those that still functioned. He’d told her that they were noble machines, put there to guide us and to connect us, but that like all things, often they were used to kill. Vika could see nothing as she gazed upwards; only featureless blue sky.
The novelty of flight had worn off some time ago. Boredom started to set in. When she’d been down in the hold with only a porthole to see out of, the cockpit had seemed like a much better prospect. Now that she was here the endless blue sky and white cloud was becoming dull. She found herself wishing that Fredrick didn’t have to be at the controls… that he could take her into his bunk again.
That would surely have grated on Aiden.
To pass the time, she thought of Armenia, of home. Her father had told her his visions, a long time ago, but it never seemed to have occurred to him to act on them. It was different now. Now her father was gathering Ashtarak’s strength, training its militia, branching out to the other towns to join him. Once there was unity, he could stamp out the pockets of raiders and rapists one at a time.
She knew that his sudden decision to act had had something to do with Azarian’s betrayal. Maybe if the council hadn’t tried to throw him down, things would have continued without change. It wasn’t a terrible thought, either. To Vika, the old, stable Ashtarak was a comforting memory. It was everything she’d ever known, and despite its failings, it had worked. She had never felt unsafe there; not until the day the slavers came. Her father had always been there to protect her, and the town had always been there to protect them both.
But she saw now that that had been a false comfort. Everybody did. They had learned the hard way that in order to have peace and safety, you must be ready for violence. Only through strength and integrity could Armenia really be safe again. Like soldiers in the old times, he’d told her, each shield should overlap the next, and the people beneath those shields must brace themselves to meet whatever may come.
Coming after her like he did, leading men for the first time since the war; it had awakened something in him. In all the years she had known him, he had never seemed so young, so full of life. She knew that this was the real Tovmas. Her father’s strength was plain for everyone to see, and he was stronger now than Vika had ever known. When she saw him talking, his words were more animated and his passion for the cause shone through. He believed whole-heartedly in what he was trying to achieve, and that rubbed off on everyone who heard him. He was a born leader.
She was proud to call him her father. Her fist coiled tightly by her side, and silently she swore she would make him proud of his daughter.
31.
The Mountain
Commander Petrus had been gone for a long while. Hammit sat on his seat in the aircraft, looking out of the canopy at the giant green mountains that disappeared into the clouds. Big rocks were scattered all over their slopes, like somebody had thrown a strop and flung them there. Somebody strong. H
e squinted up at the high slopes, looking for where they’d come from. He couldn’t see anything, just white cloud.
It wasn’t raining, really, it was just sort of wet anyway. When he’d been allowed outside to piss, the cold clouds seemed to find their way through his clothes, making his skin clammy. The thought of it made him smile to himself again. He’d stood on the ground. It had been soft and spongy, and the grass had rustled as he walked through it.
Weird.
But now he had sat on his own for a long time. His backside was aching, and his feet wanted to feel the grass again. Commander Petrus had told him to stay put, to watch the aircraft. He’d taken the two marines and the flight lieutenant with him, but he didn’t say how long he’d be gone for. Could be hours, could be days.
That got Hammit worrying. Maybe Commander Petrus was in trouble, wherever he’d gone. Maybe one of those rocks had fallen on him and the others, and Hammit wouldn’t ever know about it. That frightened him more than a little. He didn’t know how to fly the aircraft. He didn’t even know where he was, only what Commander Petrus had told him: north. Suddenly he was all fluttered with worry.
Maybe, then, he should go and try to find them. He’d watched them go, across the grass until they looked tiny as little bugs, and then they disappeared into the rocks. He reckoned he could remember which ones. Those ones there, he thought. Or was it those ones there?
He sat for a little while longer, staring hard at the rocks, waiting for them to appear. They didn’t. He sucked in some courage and opened the hatch.
It was colder outside than he remembered. The wind was stronger, and it seemed to cut through even the thick flight suit that Commander Petrus had given him. Little drops of water settled on his sleeves. He shivered.
When he looked hard, he could still see the trampled clumps of grass where Commander Petrus and the others had passed by earlier. He set off, following the tracks, stumbling on the soft, lumpy ground.
It took what seemed like a very long time to reach the rocks. They were huge close up. Even just the sight of them made him a little bit scared. He glanced back at the aircraft. It looked so small and out of place, sitting on the hump between the mountains. He was tempted then just to hurry back to it, and forget about the whole thing.