by Kae Bell
He had wanted to go to his homeland today, to see his family. He knew his wife was busy making rice with sesame seeds and coconut milk for their ancestors. But instead he would look for Miss Severine.
He walked to the end of the road, away from the house where Severine had visited. Kiem turned right onto the busy street filled with a steady flow of early morning traffic. Tuk-tuks, bicycles, and flatbed tracks rolled by him but he didn’t flinch or yield as he walked along the side of the road. He started to cross the street and the traffic gave way, flowing around him, parting for him as he moved forward.
Across the street, he walked down a sandy path that led below the bridge and onto a sand road that ran along the soapy river. He walked along the path by several tin houses until he reached a small hut about a half-mile from the bridge. He pushed aside the rickety metal door and stepped inside.
The room was sparsely furnished: A cot, a few beaten-up cooking utensils and a pile of clothes that looked like they needed a serious wash. Behind the bed, which was piled high with more dirty clothes and blankets, was an oily tarp, stained and patched. Kiem looked around to see if any passers-by were near. No one. Then he lifted the tarp, revealing a gleaming red motorcycle. Despite his steady dull headache, he smiled. He hid the bike because he knew gangsters would steal it otherwise. He used it only to go back to his province, his distant homeland, to see his family - it was much faster than driving the tuk-tuk on those muddy jungle roads. And today he needed to be fast.
He knew where Heang’s home province was, as it was his own as well. He would go there now to search for Miss Severine. He would search until he found her.
*******
The sun shone on the hard pavement. The courtyard was surrounded on four sides by tall gray walls. Severine lay in the corner. Her chest rose and fell slowly, as if she was in a deep sleep. A guard watched her from a cot, where he lay resting in the afternoon sun. He had been instructed not to hurt her more than she was already. He had watched Heang beat her and it had thrilled him.
Finally, Severine stirred. The drugs they had given her had left her groggy and nauseous. She sat up and the pain hit. Her head hurt and her back and her legs. She groaned. She was blindfolded but could hear distant traffic noises and talking from passersby. She assumed she was in a courtyard not far from where they’d taken her. It smelled vaguely of garbage.
She heard someone moving around the courtyard and she called out. “Please, may I have some water?”
The guard did not see the harm in that. He poured water from a red ceramic jug sitting on the plastic countertop into a chipped yellow mug and carried this to Severine, lifting her to a seated position. He untied her hands and handed her the mug. Her blindfold he left in place. He did not want to her to see where she was. He thought it would give her ideas. He did not want her to have ideas.
The courtyard itself had once been a garden but the current owner did not cultivate flowers or plants. Decay was evident in the empty beds and brown twisted dead branches. The rain had further damaged the garden by eroding the dirt, which spilled from the low shallow beds onto the concrete, in crooked brown lines
Severine drank from the cup and handed it back empty to her captor. He had not spoken to her yet, only grunted. But she could smell him. He had not showered for days, if not weeks. He smelled of dried fish and urine.
A knock on a distant door caught the attention of her captor and Severine heard his feet shuffle out of the room.
Her captor had left her hands untied. Severine pulled at the fabric around her head. It was a krama: She could just barely see through the red-checked fabric. It was tied tightly and she struggled with it for a moment before she was able to pull it off.
She looked around. The sun was low, it was late afternoon. The courtyard was filled with debris: Old bicycles, a rusty metal tub, a couple car tires and a broken pushcart. She saw no evidence of Samnang.
Severine set working on the ties around her ankles. The knots were tied tightly and her fingers were cramped from being tied and crushed under her own weight for several hours. She heard voices from inside the house. She worked at the knots, loosening them.
She figured she had a minute, two if she was lucky. She kept at the knots, yanking. The last one gave way with a final tug. She stood, steadied herself against the brick wall, and raced to the gate. It was locked but the lock was old, like everything else in the courtyard. She banged at it with the palm of her fist, hoping it would give way. It did not. Looking around for something sturdier, she grabbed a tire iron by the motorcycle and smashed it against the metal lock. The lock, rusted from years of rain, broke clear in two, the metal shearing where the tire iron struck. The pieces clattered to the floor.
Severine knocked the lock off the gate and pushed it open, running down the dusty street as her captor and his guest appeared in the doorway of the house, alerted by the clatter. Her captor, confused, looked to where Severine had been and then over to the gate, which was open and swinging on its hinges. He rushed out to the street and caught sight of Severine as she rounded the corner in her bare feet. He raced after her.
She did not get far. Despite his bulk and general dim-wittedness, her captor was quick. He bolted to the corner, past the trash bins and tuk-tuks between him and his prey. Severine glanced back and kept running. The open canal lay in front of her.
He closed the distance in ten seconds and, like a lion bored with the chase, knocked Severine to the ground with a thick heavy sideways swipe to her head. He scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder, her dusty bare feet dangling by his thick waist.
He pulled out a knife and held it against her Achilles tendon, a suggestion to behave. He liked having a prisoner to watch over. And he would not lose her again.
*******
After dusk, bound again in the courtyard, leaning against a wall, Severine heard a familiar voice. She turned.
Heang stared at her from several feet away.
“So now, you have made things difficult for yourself.” He glared at her, his nostrils flaring. He bent down to her with a knife in his hands and sliced through the twine that bound her ankles and knees.
“Get up,” he said, then called out to the guard in Khmer. The guard opened the gates and a long black car backed into the courtyard. As Severine struggled up, Heang yanked her to her feet. When the car stopped, he pushed her to the back car door, which had opened from inside. When Severine climbed in, she saw Samnang, shivering and weeping in the far corner of the back seat.
The car door slammed shut behind her. It was dark and Severine heard breathing, slow and easy. A match was struck and a familiar face smiled back at her in its wavering light.
Chapter 24
The river had widened here, and the canoe had slowed, giving the three men a good view of the plain. Frank steered from the back and Stu directed upfront, their paddles pulling the water backwards, drawing lines on the river’s surface that spiraled out into the current.
As Andrew stared at the plain, all he could think was that it was like a photograph. Only life-size and cast in gold. It was a day in the life from long ago. All across the plain were figures, humans and animals, caught in a moment in time, a moment, Andrew could tell, of celebration. He could see tables covered with food made of gold. Animals bedecked with jewels. The expressions on the finely wrought human statues were ones of joy. People smiled, danced, laughed and sang. In gold.
Frank spoke. “It was gift of sorts to a great king from an artisan. A sign of the king’s worth, the joy he brought to his people, and a measure of the people’s love for him.”
“How far back?”
“None of us are experts but…”
Stu chimed in. “I would guess four thousand years old.”
“That would predate the Terracotta Army by a couple thousand years,” Andrew said. He had seen them in London some years back.
Stuart was impressed. “Very good. The artistry is finer as well. Casting these figures in gold. It exceeds know
ledge of metalworking of that time.”
“It’s astonishing,” Andrew said, looking at the shining figures.
They had pulled the canoe to shore, stepped out onto the beach and walked toward the plain. The soft sand gave way underneath their feet, slowing their progress.
“You said there was a story?” Andrew asked
“Yes, more of a fairy tale. There are engravings over there.” Frank gestured to the far stone wall. “In symbology none of us had seen. We copied it down and every couple months, one of us would go to town and have it translated page by page, careful-like, so no one could put two and two together.” He rummaged around in his pockets.
“Here’s what we got.”
Frank pulled from his pocket several typed pages and handed them to Andrew. “Why don’t you have a read. It’s quite a yarn. Even for a spook like you.” He winked at Andrew and walked away.
The Story of The Keep
There was an ancient kingdom before the lines for countries were drawn. A great king ruled the land and the sea. One day, bearing bad news, the king’s Magician found the king high in a tower built on a hill shrouded by mist.
He said to his King, “Sir, I have studied the stars, as you have entrusted me to do. Until now your rule has been marked by greatness and peace, due to your wisdom. But also through the grace of the stars. But now, I have foreseen a catastrophe.”
The king turned from the window, where he gazed out though the mist into the lives and hearts of his people, who were content.
“I have never known you to trouble me with small matters, so I will hear you out,” said the King.
The Magician gestured to the window to the east.
“As you know, there are times of stasis and times of change. We have been blessed by balance. Time must have balance or things fall into disorder. I sense that a great imbalance is coming, that the balance is breaking and once broken, will not be repaired.”
“Please explain,” the king urged. Worry was etched on his lined face that wore years of concern for his far-reaching lands.
“The imbalance if left unheeded will lead to a series of chaotic events. We are currently in harmony with the other celestial bodies, but that will cease. The passage of time as we know it will cease, the speed of time will increase. What used to feel like a year, even a decade, will pass in a day. There will be no order.”
“Can you restore the order?” the King asked, looking south, at the sea that stretched far out beyond the view from the window. The sun was setting and the evening clouds were tinged with the yellow and orange of dusk.
“I do not know, your greatness. I have not attempted such a spell before. There is no record of anyone trying to restore the balance.”
The King looked at his Magician. “I have great trust in you. I believe you can do this. I believe you must try. How much time do we have?”
“A year, before the imbalance begins. After that, the way forward is dangerous and unpredictable.”
“If you are successful, you will save my kingdom. Then you will be a great and revered man. Do what you must. I put the faith of my people with you.”
The Magician tried many spells to restore the balance. Nothing worked. The year passed quickly and he still had not righted the imbalance. The weather had shifted and many terrible storms passed through the land, frightening the people and ruining crops. The Magician knew this was only the beginning. There was war threatened. People were restless, anxious, and angry.
One night deep in the bowels of his workshop, he realized the source of the imbalance. At last the Magician understood what he needed to do to restore balance to time, to hold the coming chaos at bay.
He left the kingdom by the sea and wandered for many nights in the wilderness until he found a great cavern, where he sealed himself inside. Then he spun a spell unlike any other he had cast before, binding the magic to the golden metal he found deep in the stone. Binding the magic to the earth, where it would take hold.
Then he began to create, in that metal, the world in which he had once lived and to which he knew he could never return…
Andrew flipped over the page to see if there was anything more, but that was it.
He walked back to Frank, who was skipping stones on the beach.
“What does it mean?” Andrew asked.
“Well, I sure as hell don’t know. But it sounded important. This here is a magical place.”
Andrew looked around at the statues that gleamed in the light. “It is indeed. It must be priceless.”
“Well, not quite priceless, but close, pound for pound. We had a couple of our smarter fellows round this bend and their guestimate was around $500 million if it was all melted down.” He smiled. “Course, you wouldn’t want to melt this artistry down to the base metal. Though I fear that may happen.”
Andrew stared out into the plain. “Can't we just contact the Ministry of Mines and report it?”
Frank looked at Andrew sideways, from under his hat. “That’s what Ben Goodnight tried to do.”
Andrew whirled around.
“You knew Ben Goodnight?”
Frank nodded, his face grim. “We hired him. Or rather, we had someone hire him for us. We wanted him to dig around, prospect for gold, find a few small artifacts, and file the requisite report.”
“You paid River Metals to hire Ben?”
“Sure did. We thought if we could get this place on the Ministry’s radar, with a few small but enticing gold statuettes and other pieces we left top-side for Ben to find, they’d send someone round to take a look and ring fence this place, set it aside for safe-keeping.”
Andrew nodded. “I’ve seen Ben’s report. It mentions finding several artifacts. You planted those?”
“Guilty.”
“But it didn’t work out that way. The land was conceded for exploration.” Andrew said, kicking at the sand, the grains flying low in every direction. Frank shook his head.
“Apparently, cash is king. Some durn company paid millions of dollars for the right to mine out here. And that’s just what’s on the books. You can bet there’s additional dollars lining someone’s pocket to look the other way. They don’t know what they’ve got.”
Andrew puzzled though this. “What happened to Ben when he came back? Was it a landmine?”
Frank looked away, troubled. “Those damn men in black set up camp out there a year ago. In a prime spot, right by a stream. Always marching around and barking orders at each other. Then they’d seen us out and about one day, started taking pot shots at us. We’ve been skirmishing with them ever since. Couldn’t find the way in here, so they started setting traps for us.”
“And Ben walked right into a trap?”
“Yes sir, he sure did. Damn shame.” Frank looked away, the briefest glint in his eyes.
*******
From the beach, the two men began a gradual ascent to a distant rocky cliff, the plain of golden figures stretching off to their left. Stu stayed with the canoe.
As they walked, the soft sand turned to packed dirt. With no sunlight, it was a barren place. Here and there, Andrew saw nuggets of gold scattered along the ground. The walls of the cavern shone with dark yellow veins.
About a hundred feet up from the beach, steps cut into the cliff led to a high plateau. The men ascended, Frank catching his breath now and again on the way up. At the top, Andrew turned to stare down at the plain below.
Frank spoke, breaking the reverie. “More to see. Come.”
They walked for some ways along the plateau. Ahead, Andrew saw a rough-hewn kiln, a stone hearth that would have been used for a vast fire, and a cauldron. Metal-working instruments, tongs, and clay crucibles were scattered on the ground.
“This was the forge?”
“Yes.”
Andrew studied the ancient workshop.
“Incredible to think one man built all this, just to remind himself of home.” Andrew said. He watched Frank poke at the cold hearth with his toe.
&nbs
p; “That is if you believe the story,” Frank said.
Andrew picked up some tongs and sighed. He finally had some answers about Ben and Flint would want to know. It was time for him to go. But he had one message left to impart.
“You know you guys can’t stay here much longer,” he said, staring hard at Frank.
“We know.” Frank nodded, his head still down.
Andrew left aside all the unanswered questions, the rightness and wrongness.
“We knew we’d need to leave at some point. It’s just a little sooner than we thought. Times are changing,” Frank said, still poking at the ancient stone coals. He looked up at Andrew and squinted back at the fire.
Andrew asked, “Can I help? I could call someone when I get back to town. They’d have a helo out here in an instant to take you all home. Back to the States.”
Frank shook his head. “Nah, don’t do that son. We’ve been outside the wire so long, we wouldn’t know how to fit in.”
“Where will you go?”
“I dunno. Thailand, Burma, Laos? Somewhere off the grid. Maybe with better light.” Andrew smiled at this.
Frank continued. “It’ll be tough, leaving. I feel bad about the statues. I feel like we were supposed to find them, that we’ll have failed them, leaving them behind. But whaddaya gonna do?”
Frank walked up a small hill. Andrew followed, uncertain where they were going. The ground was rougher here, covered with stones and small boulders. They continued uphill for some time, scrambling over the rock. Andrew thought it looked as if there had been a landslide here a long time ago. They stopped at the top of the hill.
Andrew glanced around them. Beyond the pebbly debris, Andrew saw what he thought was sunlight casting rays on the dirt floor. “Is that daylight?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yes, it is. It’s how we initially found this place. It’s an old well that leads to ground level.”
“How far below ground is your camp?
“About a quarter mile.”
“And how far below are we now?”