Restless Soul

by Alex Archer

  “So we will find the police or whatever authority polices this mountain,” Luartaro said. “We’ll get somebody out here, and they’ll take care of it.”

  At least one thing has been taken care of, Annja thought, considering the bowl in her backpack. She suspected Luartaro had seen her take the bowl. Certainly he’d noticed that she was missing part of the leg of her pants. But he hadn’t said anything. Maybe he didn’t mind that she’d taken a “souvenir,” as he didn’t seem too upset that Zakkarat had stuffed his pockets.

  “You’re not taking that pack,” Annja told Zakkarat.

  “Annjacreed, you have no right to—”

  “You heard the lady,” Luartaro said. “Your pockets are plenty full.” He pointed to the Thai man’s chest. A gold chain with a topaz-encrusted fob hung from it. “You’ve taken more than enough to be a rich man.”

  With a soft snarl, Zakkarat sat the bag down. “You’ve no right,” he said softly.

  “Neither do you, Zakkarat,” Annja returned.

  Just then a thick bolt of lightning cut across the sky above the hole. The mountain seemed to rock with thunder.

  “Man has a lot of dirt that God needs to wash away,” Luartaro said.

  8

  “You’re right, Annja. No use waiting out the storm,” Luartaro said.

  He gave the rope ladder a tug. “It should hold. We need to get back and find out who should be notified about all of this.”

  And so I can also set the proverbial wheels in motion to find out about the skull bowl, Annja thought.

  Zakkarat’s gaze traveled from Luartaro and the rope to Annja, and then reluctantly to the bag she’d forced him to leave behind. “No. There is no reason to wait out the storm,” he said. He shook his head in disappointment and started climbing up the ladder.

  Luartaro held the bottom to steady it.

  “This storm might last for days, Annjacreed,” their guide said.

  “After you, Annja.” Luartaro shrugged as if he was also reluctant to leave the wealth.

  Annja waited until Zakkarat was all the way up, and then she started, placing the flashlight in her pack, and making sure the bag was secure over her shoulders.

  Now that they were leaving, her mind began to race with all that had to be done and her stomach churned.

  The authorities needed to be notified.

  She wanted to get a film crew here before looters or the authorities could spirit all of it away.

  They’d likely leave the coffins, though, she decided. They’d left the coffins in the other caves.

  Her crew could film them, and she and Luartaro had hundreds of shots of the treasure to supplement whatever show was put together.

  Work had intruded on her precious vacation, after all. And she’d had to summon her sword to break through the earth wall. That part of her life had intruded, too, but fortunately she’d managed to convince Luartaro he hadn’t seen a sword.

  The hole in the cavern roof was just south of an overgrown and thoroughly muddy trail. Perhaps the cavern had been discovered by accident when someone went off the trail, walked across a thin section of rock and broke through. Maybe that particular someone decided to hide the treasure inside.

  As she emerged, Annja spotted a tarp caught on a bush and guessed that it had been used to camouflage the hole, but the storm had blown it loose. The rain beat down on her helmet. It pelted her shoulders, almost painful in its intensity.

  The ground she and Zakkarat stood on had turned into a sluicy mixture of mud and gravel. She stared at the trail, which was at best wide enough for a vehicle and more likely had been used for mountain bikes.

  “Difficult to get a Jeep up here, Annjacreed,” Zakkarat said.

  “Inaccessible,” she said. “Except to someone who is very determined.”

  “But people did not carry the Buddhas here in their arms, Annjacreed. And they truly did not manage that…” Zakkarat paused, searching for an English word. “Hoard,” he said. “They did not manage to hide that hoard in one trip. Many, many trips, maybe.”

  He didn’t meet her gaze when she looked up; he was clearly still regretting that she’d convinced him to leave the treasure-stuffed pack behind. Annja thought he also looked a little bit ashamed, perhaps because of the looting—even if he was doing it to help his family.

  She looked around, trying to get her bearings.

  They were in a low spot in the mountains, and the rest of the range rose like the spiny backbone of some prehistoric creature all around them. The highest peaks were to the north.

  It was difficult to make out details because the vegetation was so thick and the trees so tall. And all of that was blurred into a miasma of greens and browns by the driving rain.

  She canted her head up and squinted through the rain. The clouds were swollen and the color of iron.

  Luartaro joined them and tugged the rope ladder up and rolled it. “No use making it easy on whoever has been visiting this spot. Let’s get rid of this just in case they come back here before we do.”

  He worked the ends of the ladder free from clamps that had been hammered into the stone. “Got to find a spot to hide this.”

  He pointed to a clump of high, thick ferns, the leaves of which were flattened down from the rain. “See? We’ll be able to find this place again. A parrot plant. Pretty rare even for this area. Find the parrot plant, find the treasure.”

  Next to the ferns was a delicate-looking plant that had rosy blossoms in the shapes of parrots hanging upside down. Most of the flowers had been smashed against the ground by the storm.

  He bent to stuff the coiled rope ladder under the fern, and then straightened in surprise. “What’s this? Annja, it seems this hiding place is already being used.”

  She slogged toward him and peered around the ferns. “A winch and cable. So that’s how they got the treasure into the chamber.”

  She knelt and examined it. “But it’s broken, the motor’s burned here and here. They probably discarded it.”

  “And will have to come back with another one,” Luartaro added.

  “We should get going.” Annja stood and looked to Zakkarat. She had an innate sense of direction and didn’t get lost easily, but this section of the mountains—like all of Northern Thailand—was wholly unfamiliar to her. “Can you tell where we are? How far we might be from your Jeep?”

  The guide scratched his head. “I am not sure,” he said after a moment. He slowly turned, raising and lowering his eyes, and then shrugging. “We cannot be terribly far from anything, Annjacreed. There are many tribes in and around the mountains. More tribes now than there were a few years ago. A few thousand Karen from Myanmar—Burma—settled here not long ago to avoid fighting in their country. Other tribes divide.”

  “Karen?” Annja asked.

  “Yes, but not the long-necked ones the tourists like to see. So if I cannot find the Jeep, I will find a tribe. I will get home, and you will get to your lodge.” He dug the ball of his foot into the muddy path and pointed south. “And this muddy little road must lead somewhere, yes? We will not be lost for long.” He started walking without another word.

  She gave a last look at the cavern opening, and then plodded forward, passing Zakkarat in a few strides. If he didn’t know where they were, she might as well take the lead.

  The rain felt good against her skin, neither cold nor warm but more than tolerable on this summer day. It smelled good, it and the trees and mud, chasing out the last trace of mustiness from the cave and all the guano that she’d smelled in the various chambers and knew wasn’t good for her.

  She nimbly avoided what looked like a deep rut from a tire, filled with water and ringed by small green frogs that made chirping sounds.

  They quieted and leaped away when Zakkarat, not walking as carefully, stomped by in his effort to catch up with Annja.

  She listened to the slap of his boots against the mud and the jangle of coins and whatever else he’d managed to stuff in his pockets.

&n
bsp; It continued to grate on her, the notion that he’d stolen some of the treasure. But she did her best to force her displeasure down…and she decided she would not tell any authorities of his theft.

  Let Zakkarat provide well for his family and other Shan members. She couldn’t fault a man for wanting to do that, and she’d prevented him from taking out the rest, after all. And she, too, was guilty of removing the skull bowl.

  She hitched her pack higher onto her back. The bowl pressed against her spine through the canvas.

  Zakkarat poked her shoulder. “Annjacreed, what is this finder’s fee you talked about? When will I get this fee? How many baht will it be?”

  As if you don’t have enough treasure, she thought. “I don’t know how many baht. A finder’s fee is typically what an agency gives someone for discovering a thing of value or interest. Sometimes it is a percentage of the value of the find, occasionally negotiated. Sometimes museums or universities give them, and sometimes—”

  “I should have taken more treasure,” he fumed. “And you should not have stopped me.” Zakkarat chattered in Thai—profanities, she guessed—waving a hand that had several gold rings on it. She pushed his voice to the back of her mind.

  At least the odd, chilling sensation had not returned since she’d discovered the bowl and its contents.

  But who put the bowl and the other treasures in the chamber? And why? Where did they come from? And where were they going? What was their ultimate destination?

  She shook her head, knowing the answers would not come to her on this trail. First, she needed her computer and her contacts, and that wouldn’t happen until they made it back to the lodge and then the nearest city. So she focused on other things, the soggy beauty of the trees and the mountains, the tune Luartaro was humming—something lovely and foreign to her—Zakkarat’s boots slapping against the mud, the chirp of an occasional frog, the chitter of an angry, drenched monkey and the soft purr of…an engine.

  Her head snapped up just as bullets struck the ground in front of her feet.

  “Run!” she shouted to her companions as she dived off the trail.

  Feet pounded the ground behind her, and she slowed so that Luartaro could slide past, arm protectively around Zakkarat’s shoulders as he shoved him into the brush.

  The pommel of her sword formed in her hand. She hadn’t even been aware of calling it. She instantly dismissed it.

  She didn’t want Luartaro to see it again, but more than that, it was useless at a distance and against machine guns.

  As she ran, she looked back over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of their attackers.

  The men were dark-clad and Asian. She had only had a flash of them as she left the trail, but she knew there were four in the Jeep, and more in a second vehicle that was roaring up the trail. Another man was on a four-wheel ATV. She couldn’t make out anything else, as she was moving too quickly in an effort to avoid being shot.

  They had machine guns, but she could also hear the firing of pistols. They shouted in what she thought was Vietnamese. There was a loud, long exchange and she could pick up only a few groups of words in the mix. What little Vietnamese she’d learned through the years had been from watching travelogues and foreign action films and visiting one of her favorite New York restaurants. She wasn’t entirely sure she was catching the phrases correctly.

  She heard the thumps as men abandoned their Jeeps and ran after them.

  The men slipped and slid in the mud and over the rain-slick ferns just as she did.

  But these men were probably fresh and rested, having ridden in the Jeeps up the mountains, while she and her companions were spent from their ordeals in the caves.

  Since they probably couldn’t outrun the men, she had to get her companions to a hiding place. Then she would double back with her sword and get some answers.

  “Annja!”

  “Behind you, Lu!” She was, though she could have easily passed him by. She stayed behind the two men, hoping that she would be the target. And also the first to turn and fight, if she had to.

  As she ran, dodging leaves and branches that slapped at her face, trying to stay upright as her boots skated on mud and leaves, her mind worked.

  It all fit together, somehow—the treasure, the dog tags and now the men chasing them.

  The pounding footfalls behind her sounded like five or six men were in pursuit. The machine-gun fire had stopped, but the wild pistol shots still zipped and zinged over their heads and off into the jungle.

  Thank God the ones still firing were lousy shots! How many men were there? And did they all have guns?

  Mud and rocks spit up and bit into the backs of her legs. Something slammed into her back. “Move!” she said to Luartaro, though they were already running full out. “Move. Move. Move.”

  She could stop and stand her ground. Maybe give Lu and Zakkarat time to get away. But the odds were so much against her that she couldn’t risk it. But maybe she could draw them away.

  “Keep going straight,” she hissed at Luartaro’s back.

  She peeled off away from Zakkarat and Luartaro and slowed just a bit. She slapped the bushes and ferns as she ran, making as much noise as she could to draw the gunmen’s attention.

  It was a good plan, but it didn’t work.

  Luartaro, gentleman that he was, hadn’t followed her instructions. When she’d veered off, he had, too.

  She wheeled around just as one of the pursuers slid to a stop and lifted his machine gun.

  “Down!” she shouted.

  Tiny pinpoints of fire flashed. Bullets tore into the leaves near Annja’s head. Wood splinters exploded from a tree.

  She gave Luartaro a shove to get him out of the line of fire and leaped after him, taking cover behind the tree. A big hunk of the tree had been torn away. It smelled wounded and green.

  She peeked out just enough to place the source of the gunfire. One of the men had found a good spot to see down the side of the mountain and was firing in an arc. Bullets and mud and pieces of pulverized greenery sprayed everywhere, each arc getting closer to them.

  Lightning flashed and the ground seemed to rock in response. It was almost like the impressions she got when she first touched the skull bowl, the storm that had raged in her mind.

  The rain poured down, not quite drowning out the shouts of the dark-clad men as they searched the undergrowth. One voice rose above the others, barking orders.

  A sudden, shrill whistle cut through the clamor.

  “Run, Zak!” Luartaro yelled. “Run for all you’re worth!”

  Zakkarat tried to obey. He was several yards away from them, and Annja could see him leap to his feet and turn to run.

  But as nimble as he was, he was afraid, and he whirled and fell into a tangled mess of vines.

  Luartaro slipped and slid over to him and tugged him free. He turned around to make sure Annja was near, and then he wheeled and followed Zakkarat’s mad dash down the side of the mountain.

  Annja leaped over a low bush and followed, dodging from side to side in case their attackers could still see them.

  She struck a low branch, and with a jolt that knocked her breath away, her feet slid out from under her.

  She grabbed at a bush, a tree, but everything tore off in her fingers. And suddenly, she was sliding on her back, picking up speed.

  She scrabbled for another bush, and for a fraction of a second thought it was going to hold, but then it, too, failed her.

  She had time for a gulp of air and a fleeting glance at Luartaro and Zakkarat.

  Like her, they had landed on their backs. Like her, they were sliding wildly down the mountainside.

  Like big ball bearings in an arcade game, they caromed out of sight.

  9

  Annja didn’t hesitate.

  She reached for the sword in her mind. The pommel formed in her hand. Her fingers instinctively closed around it, and she squeezed so hard she imagined that her knuckles had turned white.

  She rolled
and, at the same time, stabbed out at a clump of bushes. Her shoulder jerked painfully as her mad slide was stopped short. She scrambled to her feet.

  With her companions out of sight, though perhaps not safely so, she would confront any who followed. It was their best chance of getting off the mountain alive.

  She spun and crouched, ready to meet her pursuers.

  She immediately spotted four men, several dozen yards away and closing in. There were more, she knew, but the others might have returned to the Jeeps. She’d worry about them later.

  One of the four saw her and swiveled his machine gun up and fired a burst. Bullets chewed into the trunk of an acacia tree near her, and she leaped for the tree to use it as cover. More shots rang out and wood splinters stung her face.

  The men shouted and raced toward her.

  She pushed off from the tree and darted toward another thick trunk, barely managing to slip around it before more shots plowed into the vegetation.

  At least they were concentrating on her. Perhaps Luartaro and Zakkarat were safely away, after all.

  She held her breath and listened intently. Rain still pattered onto the leaves, and distant thunder rumbled. The slapping of the men’s boots on the ground and another burst of gunfire told her they were close.

  She sucked in a deep breath and centered herself.

  She could tell the men had split up and were coming at her from two directions. So they were smart and organized, possibly military, definitely with some training.

  Annja took off on a straight course, tucking and rolling into a smaller target as bullets struck the ground at her feet and splashed her face with mud.

  With a last prayer that Luartaro and Zakkarat were all right, she focused her attention on her fight.

  She sprinted for a clump of willowy trees and darted between the trunks. Bullets followed her, but not as many as before.