Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  "What are you griping about, Miller?" Debbi asked snidely. "Since when do you want a battle to start?"

  Miller cradled his hands behind his head. "You're right, Dallas, I'd sure as hell rather be home in my bed than babysitting these gutless anouks."

  "What is that?" Chennault groaned as she poked something unfamiliar in her bowl.

  Miller sat up to peer in. He grimaced. "Cripes, it looks like a bug. Is that supposed to be in there?"

  Chennault glared at him. "What do you think?"

  "Who can tell with these anouks."

  "It's not a bug," Hallow commented from his place just outside the Ranger's small circle. "It's a plant called a batim."

  "It has legs," Chaunnalt noted with a scowl.

  Tsukino chuckled quietly from his seat.

  "Those are roots," Debbi said to the stocky ex-Marine.

  Chennault offered Debbi a dubious look, but spooned the delicacy, shoved it in her mouth, and chewed deliberately.

  Debbi waited, wondering if batim was something Chennault would actually like. Batim didn't have that much flavor and its texture was rather odd. But Chennault swallowed and shrugged, continuing to shovel in the rest of her meal in quick and quiet order.

  Miller huffed. "I still think it was a bug. A big nasty one too."

  "If it was, it probably came off you," Stew remarked. "When was the last time you bathed, Miller? The one thing we do have is plenty of water. My God. Use some of it." Stew's face was screwed up even though he sat on the opposite side of the campfire.

  Fitz took a big, theatrical sniff. "You do smell like a barka there, Miller. What did you do, mistake one for an anouk woman?" His deep, baritone voice held a friendly challenge.

  Miller immediately bristled. "A barka would sure be a hell of a lot warmer than these anouk babes. They have about as much personality as my ammo clip."

  Fitz shrugged. "I don't know. I think they have a lot of possibilities." His eyes roamed to a cluster of nearby anouks, three of them were female. One was appraising Fitz and his new wardrobe accessory with a predatory eye. Fitz jerked his gaze back to Miller. "They're spunky. I like my women spunky."

  "But an anouk woman?" Ringo asked with a tinge of disgust.

  It was the first time Debbi had heard the young Ranger speak in days. It hurt her to hear the mistrust and hatred in his voice. Ringo had grown up in the Wastelands and he used to be very tolerant and liberal-minded. But that open, breezy young Ranger was turning hard and suspicious. It was another thing to thank Quantrill and his Bone Camp for.

  "Why the hell not?" Fitz countered. "I like my women like I like my liquor."

  "Big and purple?" Debbi asked.

  "No. Strong and brassy and with the muscle to snap you like a twig. What's not to like?"

  "Uh, a broken spine?" offered Stew with a wide grin.

  "Nothing like a little danger in a courtship, I say."

  "Then why aren't you still dating Miller's sister?" Chennault mumbled while scraping the last bit of food from her bowl into her mouth.

  "I said danger," Fitz replied, "not a living death."

  Miller rolled his eyes. "You should be so lucky, Fitz. My sister wouldn't have a big, Irish goof like you."

  Fitz silently crossed himself.

  Miller sighed wistfully. "You know, speaking of anouk women. I remember an old Banshee Geographic magazine that had some pictures of anouk women. You know? Pictures." Stroking his thin mustache, Miller's face became a cross between a daydreaming schoolboy and a leering construction worker. It wasn't a pretty sight.

  Debbi heard Ringo's voice beside her. "Is all this . . . um, talk bothering you, Dallas?"

  She laughed. "Ringo, it takes more than a bunch of horny guys to throw me off my game. It's nothing I haven't heard a million times before. Good lord, you do know what my name is, don't you? Personally, there's an anouk male or two that bears a closer look-see on my part. Men in loincloths, there's just something about it." She offered up an exaggerated, dreamy exhale.

  Ringo's shocked expression was worth the price of admission.

  Debbi turned to hide her grin and found herself under Ross's curious eye. A blush immediately colored her cheeks and she reached for her canteen and a drink of cold water. Long seconds went by before she braved a raised head. Unfortunately, he was still watching her. His expression was bemused and she watched his left eyebrow rise slowly.

  Hers rose in answer. "Everyone has a fetish," she told him.

  "So I see," was his deadpan response.

  "Hey, when are we going home?" Miller blurted out since Ross seemed willing to take part in their little campfire dialogue for the first time. Even three little words was a major breakthrough given Ross's steely demeanor of late.

  "Yeah, we haven't done jackcrap for days now," stated Chennault. She picked up an anouk battle-ax that she had traded for several days ago and ran her thumb along the blade. "If they don't need us, I say we pull out."

  Ngoma added, "We have the ability to make a dent in the enemy." He touched his sidearm with the black gun attachment. "And yet they don't seem to want our help. Strikes me as incredibly odd and foolish. Let's leave while we have the chance."

  Ross remained silent, but his eyes were still locked on Debbi. This time she didn't flinch from his gaze. She certainly wanted the Rangers to stay and help, but she couldn't force them to remain. She had a personal obligation to Martool that they didn't share.

  Debbi could see the resolve written on Ross's face also. He had his own reasons for staying. Quantrill was out there and Ross wouldn't leave without some sort of retribution. What did her father used to say?

  Payback was a med-evac. In Quantrill's case, he'd be lucky to get a rotting pine box.

  "Oh hell, we're not leaving," muttered Miller. "I can see it in their eyes. Dallas loves anouks. And Ross is . . ." He swallowed his opinion in a sudden cough, realizing Ross was just silent, not deaf.

  "You're right," Chennault said. "But it was worth the try."

  Debbi rose to her feet. "I'll see what I can find out. See how the battle is going elsewhere." She walked toward the main passageway off the courtyard. "At the very least," she shot back over her shoulder, "I'll find some dirty pictures for you all to look at."

  "Promises, promises," Stew called after her.

  Debbi meandered through the city. She had hoped she would remember her way around the massive complex, but she realized swiftly that it was fruitless. Every tannis wall looked pretty much like another. There were so many different levels that soon she had no idea at all where she was.

  She asked a few anouks to direct her to Martool, but she either got a cold shoulder or, if she was lucky, an occasional finger point in an aimless direction. She doubted that she could even find her way back to the Rangers at this stage.

  Frustrated, she began backtracking and bumped right into Sahrin. As she rebounded off the burly anouk, he reached out a thick arm to steady her. He must have been following her from the courtyard.

  "What?" he asked in his thick, guttural English.

  Debbi straightened. "I need to see Martool."

  "A thing wrong?"

  "No. Yes." She huffed with exasperation. "We came to help and Martool has us sitting on our hands out there." She gestured in what she hoped was the direction of the sun gate. "We can help you if only you'd let us." She pulled her Dragoon and angled up the black gun. "We're willing to use these for your defense and instead we're watching a gate that sees less action than my dead Aunt Bertha's antique rocking chair."

  Sahrin's face furrowed with concern. "Who is dead?"

  Debbi waved her hands. "Sahrin, forget that. Nobody's dead. Listen, the Rangers are going to leave if they don't feel they're needed. We can do some damage to the Legion. Just let us try. Martool must understand this."

  Sahrin stood motionless, but finally nodded. He strode off down a passageway so quickly that Debbi just stood there a moment watching his departure. Then she darted after him, barely able to keep up. Tw
enty minutes later after an exhaustive tour of Castle Rock, he paused before a wall.

  "Stay here," he commanded.

  The wall melted in front of him and he walked through an open doorway. Debbi hadn't quite figured out the doors in Castle Rock. Some of them were slabs of stone that moved without apparent mechanisms, but other times solid tannis walls just melted away to reveal rooms behind them. Curiosity almost made Debbi peek inside this one, but she refrained.

  Sahrin appeared again and waved her in. Then he quietly departed. As Debbi stepped through, the wall rose up again behind her. She watched it in fascination for a second, but then turned her attention to the rest of the room.

  It was a rough-hewn room filled with flickering torches and candles. Martool knelt before a wall covered with delicately carved symbols and images with her arms raised and her eyes closed. Debbi couldn't make much sense of what the carvings represented. She had never seen anything like it in all her years on Banshee. Then she realized with a start that every wall in the room was similarly ornately etched. In the dim lighting, the room suddenly appeared very sacred.

  Martool was draped in a rich purple robe which gave her a regal look. She remained still, not acknowledging Debbi's presence. The Ranger stood quietly, passing the time by studying the wall nearest her. She recognized bits and fragments of anouk writing. There were also pictures of battles and ceremonies. One portion of the wall portrayed a myriad of beasts that Debbi had never seen before. Perhaps they were extinct now. Regardless, they were horrific and she wouldn't want to meet them anyway.

  She reached out a hand to touch the carving and it abruptly melted away. She jerked her hand back in alarm. The whole wall shimmered like quicksilver before reshaping itself into a new image.

  Over the course of the next few minutes, the wall performed the trick twice more before finally becoming a smooth blank surface. It was like pages turning in a book before finally closing to be placed once again on the shelf. Martool rose gracefully to her feet and turned toward Debbi.

  "Th . . . that was amazing," the Ranger stuttered. "What was that?"

  Martool adjusted the thick, massive cloak on her shoulders. She looked very weary, the angles of her face sharper than normal. "It is our history and future. All that we have been and will be is recorded here."

  "I've never seen anything like it." Debbi regarded the stone wall one last time and then forced her attention back to Martool. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I have something I'd like to discuss."

  Martool cocked her head expectantly. There was something different in the way she regarded Debbi. The anouk looked the Ranger up and down, as if appraising her in a new way.

  Debbi continued, despite feeling uncomfortable with the odd scrutiny, "I'm not sure I understand our inactivity. The Rangers, I mean. We're sitting at the sun gate getting fat on your food. Surely we can be better used elsewhere. We're ready to fight."

  The shaman sighed. "Not everything is solved through conflict, Debbi. I have ordered my people to stay within the walls throughout Castle Rock so no more will die."

  "I hope you don't think you can parley your way out of this siege. Because you can't. The Legion isn't interested in talking. They're here to wipe you out. Surely your people learned that back in Seventy-six."

  "What I learned in Seventy-six," Martool said evenly, "is that we can't beat evil with force. I have my ways and you don't as yet understand."

  Debbi explained, "I've seen Quantrill at work. He's remorseless and has no respect for anything except force. You can't beat him by hiding. You've got to hurt him! Every Legionnaire you kill is one less weapon he has. Weapons he can't replace!"

  "I know Quantrill too," Martool said. "Twenty years ago he and his troops, these same soldiers who are outside now, entered Castle Rock and slaughtered my people, including my mother."

  A cold draught caressed Debbi's heart as she suddenly recalled the last time she saw her own mother. She shivered as she again felt the rough hands of strangers restraining her and the sound of the escape pod blasting away, leaving her mother behind to die in the violently decompressing station.

  "Your mother was at Castle Rock?" Debbi asked unsteadily. She couldn't help but reach out and touch Martool's smooth arm. The anouk regarded the Ranger kindly and with complete understanding.

  "My mother was Castle Rock," Martool answered. "My mother was Kreech."

  Debbi's mouth dropped open in amazement. "Kreech? The Kreech? The same Kreech that led the revolt?"

  "Yes. She led the revolt against the invading human war machine that was trying to obliterate our people from the face of our own planet. My mother gathered many clans here at Castle Rock and some Reapers as well." Martool paused and then said, "And a Skinny. She fought the advancing humans. She fought in the canyons and on the city walls and in the corridors. She fought them to the end." Martool looked at Debbi. "And yet, despite the fact that she fought, she didn't win. She is dead. She sacrificed herself and her people and won nothing. That is why I know that force is not the answer."

  "You know Tekkeng is out there too."

  "Yes. I've seen him."

  Debbi saw a flash of anger and then regret pass over Martool's features. She thought back to the gruesome footage of the butchering of the prisoners. "Tekkeng is one of your people. Why would he fight with Quantrill?"

  "Tekkeng is not of my people. He is corruption afoot. He will go wherever he wishes to further his goal."

  "What is his goal?"

  Martool replied with fearful pride, "To kill me. He hates me and what I can do."

  "Why?"

  "My mother made a deal with Tekkeng. She believed the humans were responsible for the corruption that was destroying our planet, and she believed she needed the Skinny's power to defeat them. She was wrong in both beliefs. But she didn't realize it until it was too late for her. She had already made a bond with darkness. Even so, my mother was too clever for the Skinny. When she realized that her path was wrong, she conceived a child to walk the right path. Her magics insured that I would be born with certain powers. Powers that would help me to save this planet. I am a threat to Tekkeng, so when he found out about my existence, he turned his back on my mother. This place was overrun and Quantrill killed her. And thousands more. I was spirited away from the ruins of Castle Rock and hidden for many years. Since that day, Tekkeng has searched for me so he could kill me."

  Debbi regarded the shaman again, remembering the vileness and the awesome breadth of Tekkeng's mental touch. Then something terrible flashed through her mind. "Oh God. He's here because of me, isn't he? He saw you in my mind. I led him to you."

  Martool stood impassively. "That is possible. But it doesn't matter now."

  "I'm sorry, Martool. I didn't realize—"

  "There is nothing you could do to prevent it. Tekkeng is powerful."

  "I can help you stop him. And Quantrill. I beat Tekkeng once, but we've got to use the black guns. It worked in New Hope."

  Martool stared back at the young human. "No, I will not. My mother made the mistake of allying herself with darkness for a greater good. And it cost her. I will not make that mistake. I have a plan. But it takes time. You must trust me, Debbi. Just because things aren't readily apparent does not mean there is nothing there. All is as it should be. We do not need to fight Tekkeng and the Legion, only hold them at bay."

  "For how long? You can't outlast Quantrill's people. They can wait forever. They're dead."

  "And that will be their undoing. This planet abhors their kind. They could not have survived here before the sickness came."

  "Sickness?"

  "The dead rock, the ghost rock. Most believe the humans brought it with them, but that is not true. It came on its own in search of innocence to taint. You humans foolishly followed it like decay follows infection. You think this rock holds great power, but it only holds death. You may allow it to kill your planet. I won't allow it to kill mine."

  Debbi shook her head contentiously. The anouks were fa
r too superstitious for their own good. "First of all, I'm not allowing it to kill my planet. I've never even been to Earth. Second of all, ghost rock is just a rock. Humans have mined it on Earth for centuries. It's volatile, but it can be controlled. I really don't think you should be focusing so much on ghost rock."

  "It is unnatural, the spirits of evil made solid."

  Debbi stared at the shaman. She couldn't think of a response. She and Martool were so extremely different in some ways.

  Martool continued, "You can never control evil. It will only control you."

  "All right, I don't understand what you're talking about. Quantrill isn't after ghost rock anyway."

  "I intend to finish my mother's work and cleanse our world." Martool waved her arm and the walls shimmered around them. "And when the ghost rock is gone, abominations such as General Quantrill will vanish with it and our world will once again be at peace."

  Images reappeared on the walls, eroding the stone before Debbi's eyes. Scenes of Castle Rock emerged, places Debbi actually recognized. The monstrous creatures she had seen in earlier carvings walked there. Debbi's eyes scanned the next scene and saw an anouk shaman standing before them, holding them at bay.

  Martool pointed to the wall. "After the Great Massacre the ghost rock veins grew deeper into the tannis here. This place became home to abominations. The graves you have seen in the sun gate courtyard are empty now. As are all the graves in the valley. Our dead rose as monsters. They moved about freely and made Castle Rock and the entire canyon unlivable."

  Debbi suppressed a small shiver. "Where are they now? These monsters. I haven't seen any . . . ."

  "I banished them from the upper precincts. They reside in the lower levels of Castle Rock below the sun gate."

  "The sun gate?" Debbi swallowed reflexively. She glanced again at the picture on the wall, at the image of the shaman. "You mean you did this?"

  Martool nodded. "There are binding rituals, a slow and torturous process that must be maintained daily. Level by level I pushed them back. And there are cleansing rituals that force the evil from the ground. It is difficult magic, and a great strain on me, but if all goes well, one day all of this valley will be safe and my people will live here as they did in the old days."