by K Ryn
"Couldn't let the edge on the weapon be ruined?" The Sentinel's disgust and rage cut through the air like the knife he was describing.
"Precisely. You see I have --"
"Colonel?"
One of Anders men thrust his way into the tent and the Sentinel shifted into motion, eager to take advantage of the distraction. The mercenary reacted immediately, raising the dart gun and pointing it directly at Jim's chest, stopping him before he could make it to his feet.
"What is it, Private?" Anders responded in annoyance.
The man hesitated, eyeing both Jim and his superior warily, sensing the palpable hostility in the small space.
"You wanted to be notified when there were any developments, sir."
"And?"
"We've picked up a signal, Colonel. Electronic. Signature suggests a low frequency pulse consistent with an active cell phone."
Jim saw Anders' eyes flash with a mixture of anger and excitement which mirrored his own response. He tensed, preparing himself for a final desperate act. He and his Guide had just run out of time.
"Clever, but not clever enough," the mercenary murmured, a satisfied smile forming on his face. "You have the location locked?"
"Yes, sir. Teams have been advised and they're awaiting your instructions."
"Tell them to contain the target, but to wait for my arrival before attempting the retrieval. I want no mistakes this time," Anders ordered tersely.
Jim snarled, surging to his feet and launching himself toward his adversary. Slowed by the drugs in his system, he was still fast enough to make contact with the mercenary, his momentum sending both of them crashing to the hard ground. Rolling free of the hands that tried to contain him, the Sentinel managed to raise his throbbing head just before the world exploded in a burst of agonizing pain.
The wind swept across the mountainside, tumbling small pebbles into deep crevices, caressing the few stubborn strands of grass, keening a soft music attuned to the stars which sparkled overhead. It was the time of hunters -- those in flight, those who tread the earth -- seeking prey that hid in the sheltering darkness.
Wings spread wide, a great hawk soared on the currents, sharp eyes watching the shifting shapes of the two-legged predators who had invaded his hunting grounds. The hawk creeled in protest, joining his song to that of the wind and glided on into the darkness, leaving the intruders far behind.
In the false stillness of the predawn day, moonlight glittered off quartz imbedded walls of stone, dancing to a rhythm as old as time itself. The wind rippled through the forest depths, sending soft sighs and scents of pine floating upward.
The harsh beauty of the night was lost on the young man who huddled miserably against the cliff.
~It is time, young one...~
Blair shuddered and wrapped his arms even tighter around his aching body. The pressure helped soothe the throbbing bruises along his side and he found himself wishing that he could relieve the desperate pain in his soul as easily.
"No." The flat denial to the presence in his mind was no more than a whisper of sound passing through chattering teeth.
~You are cold.~
The grief-stricken Guide shivered and hugged himself even tighter
"As cold as my dead Sentinel," he murmured in anguish.
~Yet you still live... your heartbeats, your lungs draw breath, you still feel -- ~
"Feel what?" Blair demanded. "Pain? That's all I can feel. That's all they've left me!"
~There is always a balance, young one. Good and evil. Life and death. Pain and joy.~
"No. Not for me. Not anymore. His death ended everything. There's nothing left."
~There is duty.~
Blair glanced at the cell phone which lay beside him. The low battery light glowed softly in the darkness, mocking him.
"I've failed him even in that," he answered quietly. "There isn't enough power to last for more than a half hour. Besides, even if help did come, it's too late to make any difference now."
Closing his eyes, Blair leaned back into the cliff face, feeling the chill which emanated from the rocks seeping through the thin layers of still damp clothing. He would just sit here, he decided, absorbing the cold until it froze even the pain. But random images flashed against his eyelids, and he shifted uneasily.
He didn't recall exactly how he'd gotten up the mountain. He knew he'd been running blind in the darkness. His wet clothing proved that he'd fallen into water... a stream... and the vision of the towering peaks still lingered in his mind. He remembered the fear of falling and never rising again... screaming desperately for help... the warmth of recognition and trust and then surrender as another spirit joined his... of letting go...
After that, everything was a blur of surreal sensations and visions overlaid with ancient instincts and knowledge. The presence he'd finally acknowledged had brought him safely through the darkness to this ledge, high above the forest.
Blair trembled, remembering the exact moment Incacha's spirit had relinquished control. The pain and sorrow of his own returning memories had knifed through his body, driving him to his knees; the force of the screams which had been torn from his soul scraping his throat raw. It was only the driving need to carry out the orders of his Sentinel that had kept him moving -- just long enough to pull out the cell phone and punch in three numbers. The call had gone out, but there was no way of knowing whether anyone was listening.
"My duty is finished," Blair whispered, resting his head on his knees.
~Your duty to your Sentinel, perhaps. Your responsibilities to the tribe remain.~
The specter of Simon's worried face popped into Blair's mind, followed by those of Joel, Daryl, Brown and Rafe.
"I have no tribe. Not without him," he groaned, shaking his head to chase the visions away.
~A Shaman serves the tribe, with or without a Sentinel. If he is indeed gone, they will need the strength of your heart to guide them.~
"The tribe needed its Sentinel!" Blair spat back, eyes flashing open as he struggled to his feet and screamed his anger out into the night. The wind drove his words back at him and he cringed against the boulders, shaking. "The tribe is unprotected because I failed to do what was required. Because I refused to accept what was happening... refused to listen. If I had... if I'd been strong enough to deal with my fears, I would have understood the premonition. Jim would be safe. Alive."
~You are so certain he is not?~
The soft question immobilized the grieving Guide. Hope flared for a moment, but it was no match for his despair.
"I know what I heard," he whispered bitterly. "I know what I felt."
~You heard the voice of the enemy, felt the razor-sharp edge of a sliver of time... but what did you see?~
Blair trembled and long, dark lashes swept down, shuttering the pain and exhaustion-dulled blue eyes, sending rivers of hot tears coursing down his cheeks.
"Nothing. I wasn't there. He sent me away."
~To protect you.~
"Yes."
~And to protect himself.~
"Yes."
~And when you look into your heart, you are certain -- beyond life itself -- that he is dead?~
Scrubbing angrily at his face, Blair brushed away the tears. "I've told you how I feel. Why are you asking me this? What more do you want from me?"
~Beyond and before duty, there is honor. If you truly honored your Sentinel, then you must return and see justice done.~
"Justice?" Blair's voice and body shook with rage. "In a just world, it would be Anders laying dead, not Jim."
~Vengeance holds no honor, young one. A Shaman seeks truth above all.~
"I'm not a Shaman. I am -- I was a Guide. Now... now I have no one to lead. No path to follow."
~Four paths shape the way of the Shaman. Two you have already journeyed. Two remain. That which lies before you will lead you to a place and time where you will lose your fear and face death.~
Blair pushed himself away from the cliff and stalked to the
edge of the ledge, staring down into the ebony shadows which cloaked the mountainside. His eyes tracked to the right, instinctively seeking the place where he had left his Sentinel.
"And the final path?" he whispered.
~A new beginning as is the coming of each day.~
Blair's gaze swung left, seeking the horizon. In the east, the night was losing its hold. Day was indeed coming. He swiveled his head to the west again, drawing in a deep breath. Anders would be there. And Jim. Incacha's spirit had raised questions to which he had no certain answers. If there were any chance his friend was still alive, then he had to find him, or at least die trying. And if Jim was dead, the answer was the same.
A Guide's place was at his Sentinel's side.
"I would know the truth."
~Then let us hunt, young one.~
Jim crouched in the darkness of the tent, struggling to get his wildly fluctuating senses under control. The pain which strobed across the back of his skull and the drug that still lingered in his system, ate away at the little control he'd established earlier. He had tried the breathing exercises Blair had coached him through in the past, but they weren't having much effect.
He tugged at the handcuffs again, testing the links. He'd managed to get his hands in front of him at least. That would give him a better chance to take out the guard when they came in to check on him. The Sentinel's eyes glittered in the dark as the feral thoughts of exacting revenge on Anders and his men filled his mind. Once he took out the guard he'd have a weapon and then nothing would stop him from finding his Guide. Nothing.
His head snapped up. He'd heard a noise in the compound. He closed his eyes, concentrating only on hearing, but his control flickered in and out, distorting the sounds and making him almost sick to his stomach.
Another sound, this one closer and there was a movement at the tent flap. Tensed and ready to spring, Jim waited silently as the intruder entered. Before the flap fell back into place, the momentary illumination from outside gave him a chance to size up his visitor -- several inches taller and maybe twenty pounds heavier. Before the man's vision could adjust to the darker interior, Ellison leaped forward. His unexpected charge spun the taller man around. Swiftly, the ex-ranger slipped his cuffed hands over the attacker's head, using his own body-weight to pull the man backward.
Jim jerked and felt the metal links of the handcuffs choking off the man's air. At that moment he didn't care that he'd be committing murder. These men had taken something precious from him and he intended to get it back. He shifted his hold, preparing to make the killing stroke.
"Jim... it's me..."
Startled by the unexpectedness of the familiar voice, Ellison loosened his hold for just an instant. It was all his captive needed to twist free.
"Take it easy. It's Simon."
A flashlight beam cut the darkness and Jim winced, blinking away the flashing spots which danced under his eyelids. Dazed, he found himself staring at his captain.
Sounds from beyond the tent beckoned to him again. He tried to focus on them, but his senses were still surging in and out. He wavered on his feet and immediately felt strong hands wrap around his upper arms, supporting him.
"Easy..."
"How?"
"I called the Mayor's office, prepared to give her a piece of my mind about loaning out my people without clearing it with me first. Imagine my surprise when she didn't know anything about it. After that I made a few more phone calls." There was a pause, and Simon's voice became apologetic. "It took a while to cut through all the inter-agency red tape, otherwise we would have been here sooner."
"Who else?" Jim struggled to form the words, his mind still in shock. He'd written off any form of rescue and now here it was, living and breathing right in front of him.
"Most of the department, for starters," Simon responded. He brought the flashlight beam up just high enough to take a good look at his friend. "God, Jim, you look like hell. Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Anders took me down with some kind of drug. It put me out for a while and it's still playing havoc with my senses."
"What about Sandburg? Where is he?"
"Out there. Somewhere..." Jim wondered if the despair he was feeling was obvious in his voice. "He managed to get away, but Anders has men searching for him. He wants to test him... us. That's what this was all about, Simon. It was all an experiment to see how we'd react. What we could do. The bastard said he wanted to see what the connection between us was all about. And when he was done with his tests, he planned to make us a part of this private little army he's put together."
"He knows you're a Sentinel?" Jim could hear the horrified realization in Simon's voice.
"And he knows Blair is my Guide," The Sentinel answered in the same tone. "Simon, Anders is insane, obsessed. He knows... everything... things that no one could know or has a right to know. We've got to get to Sandburg before he does."
Jim felt the grip on his arm tighten in sympathetic reassurance. "We will. Come on, let's get you out of those restraints."
He let Simon guide him out of the tent. With his senses still swinging out of control like an erratic pendulum, the sights and sounds in the camp were like a physical assault. Taking a deep breath he tried to manipulate the dials again. Slowly, the world came back into focus and the noise abated to a tolerable level.
Scanning the campsite, he caught sight of familiar faces in the early morning light and the looming form of Joel Taggert headed their way.
"Joel, see if you can find the keys to these cuffs," Banks called out, still maintaining his hold on Jim.
Taggert spun around and barked an order to one of the uniformed cops. Jim watched as the man approached a group of figures, huddled on the ground. Recognizing them as some of Anders' men, Ellison snarled and started to take a step forward.
"Take it easy, Jim," Simon pleaded, holding him back. "I know how you feel, but that's not going to help Sandburg."
It took a moment for the rational part of Jim's brain to accept the older man's words and acknowledge the truth within them. He forced himself to take another breath, pushing back the rage with a promise that retribution would come.
The Sentinel closed his eyes and tried to work the dials again. He would need all of his senses back on-line if was going to be able to help his Guide. That was the important thing now, he reminded himself. Concentrate. Get control. Find Blair.
Slowly, the sensations assailing him settled into manageable levels. He opened his eyes, surprised to find himself sitting on a folding camp stool in front of one of the tents. The handcuffs had been removed and Simon was packing away a first aid kit, staring up at him in concern.
"Welcome back," Banks murmured softly, handing him a thermos cup filled with coffee.
"Thanks," Jim's voice sounded strained and shaky even to himself. He took a sip and felt an immediate rush of warmth. He shook himself and rose to his feet, Simon moving with him, a restraining hand on his arm.
"Jim --"
"I'm all right, Simon. Not quite 100 percent, but close enough." He took a quick look around the camp and his eyes settled on the group of Anders' men once more.
"They'll pay for this, Jim. I promise you that," Banks murmured softly. "They were the only one's here when we hit the camp. How many more men did Anders have?"
"At least a dozen," Jim replied grimly.
"Well, between our guys, the FBI and the Rangers, we have them outnumbered at least."
Jim glanced up at him in surprise.
"FBI flew us in," Simon explained, handing Jim a gun and watching closely as the detective checked it and slid it into the holster at his back. "The Rangers provided some special equipment and we managed to track a cell transmission coming out of the mountains just east of here. When we picked up trace signals coming out of this camp we split up, dropping half of our forces here. The other half headed for the source of the call."
"A cell transmission?" Jim asked eagerly, swinging around toward the mountains where he'd sen
t his Guide. Their dark, rugged silhouettes were shrouded in the early morning fog. "That's Blair. He had his cell phone with him. The plan was to try to get up high enough to get a signal out. He did it. Half dead with exhaustion, scared of heights and all, he did it."
"If we picked up the feed, then Anders probably did too."
"He did," Jim nodded. "That's why he's not here. He went out to handle the retrieval himself. He was going to bring Sandburg back and try out some more fun and games on the two of us."
"What kind of 'games'?"
"I don't know, Simon. He was Special Forces. Anders' idea of a 'game' could mean anything short of outright killing the participants."
"Was is the operative word, Jim. The agency is as eager to get their hands on him as we are."
"No. They're not," Jim whispered, his voice ice cold. Rage burned through him again, but this time he focused it toward the man who deserved it.
"Taggert, get on the link and warn the others to keep a lookout for Sandburg," Banks barked. "The FBI and the Special Forces Rangers seemed a little too eager to catch Anders," he explained quickly to Jim. "Rafe and Brown went with them to make sure they remembered that finding you and the kid was the first priority."
"Thanks, Simon, I --" Ellison's eyes widened and his body jerked suddenly.
"Jim?"
Before the Sentinel could respond, the faint explosions of gunfire echoed in the crisp morning air.
"Damn!" Simon spun around and found Joel lumbering toward them.
"All hell's breaking loose up there, Simon," the big man gasped. "The FBI agents stumbled upon a group of Anders' men. They had to return fire."
"What about Sandburg? Any sign of him?"
"Rafe says they found the cell. High up in the cliffs. No trace of the kid, though."