by A. Sparrow
Baas slid in beside her and coaxed the machine to life. He fumbled with a lever that guided the vehicle backwards, then forwards, flopping Seor forth and back as if she were a boneless doll. The jolt drew a flare of pain in her side. A swarm of flecks swooped in and clogged her vision. She slumped against the door and passed out.
***
Sometime later, Seor’s eyes opened to find the vehicle zooming down brightly lighted hardtop striped and dashed with yellow paint. Stubbled grass lined both sides of an endless corridor of conifers.
A half-empty bottle of water sat on the seat beside Baas. Some other object bulged under a folded map. She reached for the water. Baas’ hand slammed down and pinned her wrist before she could touch it.
“Please. I’m thirsty.”
Baas dipped his brow and released her wrist.
Seor took the flimsy bottle and untwisted the cap, and lifted it, hands shaking, to her chapped lips. She sipped enough to moisten her mouth and replaced the cap. She took a deep, aching breath and studied Baas’ silhouette. His face alternately brightened and darkened under the Flashes of light alternately illuminated his face and left him in shadow.
“Why do this?” she said. “Why not just kill me?” Her fingers pried at the metal clip on the board she had sequestered. She searched in vain for a sharp edge.
Baas stared straight ahead. “You know things. And there are those in Sesei who would want to know the things you know.”
“Didn’t stop you from trying to kill me before,” said Seor.
“You’re all that’s left. Besides me.”
“Baren is he—?”
“Dead,” said Baas.
“How did you—?”
“They track me with dogs, flying machines. I ran beyond the places they searched. But when they stopped looking, I returned. To find you.”
“How?”
“It’s what I do,” said Baas. “It’s why I am cadre.”
“Listen, Baas. I am not healed. I may not last in this condition with no healers to help me. I think I am bleeding inside.”
“You’ll last long enough for my purpose,” said Baas. “If you die … so be it. I tried to deliver you.”
“Let me heal first and you can guarantee.”
“No time,” said Baas. “Our people need to know.”
“That xenolith was destroyed,” said Seor. “How are you taking me to Sesei?”
“By another.” Baas lifted the map to reveal a contrivance of brass wheels and wooden slats.
***
The vehicle had stopped. Red and blue lights flashed over a patch of yellowed grass and withered wildflowers. Seor felt as if she was peering up from the bottom of a deep well.
She peeked into the little mirror that poked out from the body of the vehicle like the appendage of a beetle. A figure sprawled on the pavement. Baas leaned into the open window of the other vehicle, searching, hands busy. The flashing ceased.
Baas trotted back, wiped his hands on a dark cloth, climbed in and slammed the door. He slipped something heavy and angular into his waist and surged off down a road devoid of traffic.
Seor hovered, in too much pain to sleep. She shifted constantly, her body seeking fruitlessly a comfortable position that did not exist.
It was still dark when Baas pulled off the wide road into a brightly lighted parking lot filled with large, multi-wheeled machines dragging boxes the size of a long house.
“Where are we?” asked Seor.
“We walk from here.”
“To where?”
“Into the forest,” he said. “You should know this place. This is the relay you were to use … if you actually intended to join us in Gi.”
“Do you expect a convergence? Soon?”
“We just missed one,” said Baas. “Too bad. It was big. But there is an aftershock due tomorrow. Tabulator says it’s impassable but I think it should be wide enough for two of us to squeeze through ... if we time it right.”
Baas came around and hauled her out of her seat, flinging her into the lot. She stumbled like a sleepwalker as a man with stringy, grey hair walked by and hopped up into the cab of his vehicle. Seor saw the man glance and glance again. She tried to seize his gaze with her eyes, hoping to send a message that any human should understand.
“Stop staring at him!” said Baas, squeezing her arm.
They passed behind one of the boxy wagons, dark and detached, like a headless caterpillar. Baas stopped and looked up at the cloudless sky.
“We need daylight to find our way. I’ll get you hidden and we’ll wait for the sun.”
They crashed through the shrubs and came to a place where the trees were large and widely-spaced and the footing was spongy. They walked around to the backside of a small hill. Tiny lights were visible across a wide pond. Beyond, a dome of diffuse glow marked the presence of a small city.
Baas lashed Seor’s wrists and ankles together and secured them to a pair of stout saplings.
“I’ll go and get you some food,” he said.
“Feed yourself,” said Seor. “Don’t bother with me.”
“You will eat,” said Baas. “I’m bringing you back alive.”
“But why? What use am I to you?”
“You know about the counterforces. Who leads them. How they are organized. Don’t you?”
“How would I know such things? I’m not even sure they exist.”
“Don’t tell me that,” said Baas, his voice low and slow, dripping with accusation. “We both know you led one.”
“Oh yes, that was us. A counterforce. Sesei’s ultimate elite assassins. Canu and Pari and Ren and….”
Baas jerked her arm, made her wince. “Don’t joke with me. I know better.”
“You terribly overestimate us, Baas.”
“No,” said Baas. “Baren underestimated you. I know exactly who you are.” He stomped off into the underbrush, crunching through the dry leaves, footsteps fading into silence.
Seor settled back and squirmed in the leaf litter, seeking a position that minimized the pain, which had outgrown its welcome. But it was only pain, nothing grave. She didn’t bleed. Her heart was strong. Her head remained clear.
Despite the circumstances, the prospect of returning to Ubabaor cheered her. She knew she would be hauled into the depths of some cadre prison and interrogated, perhaps using methods borrowed from the Venep’o. Not they would need to do much to torture her. Sitting her up would do the trick.
But at last she would be breathing the air of Sesei again, the same air as Dima, if Dima still breathed. At least, when she died, she would die in her homeland.
Chapter 42: Allies
Canu pawed at the half-deflated sack that enveloped him. Scrapes stung the side of his nose and cheek. Blood seeped from his scalp and trickled into his eyes. He patted the seat beside him for Pari, pricking his hand on the head of a barbed pike entangled in the springs.
A groan arose from the floor. The other air bag started to ripple. Canu ripped it away to find Pari curled up on the floor, dazed and bruised. He extricated the snapped-off pike and helped her back onto her seat. She still clung to her crossbow.
“How are you feeling?” said Canu.
Pari stared straight ahead, breathing hard, eyes foggy, saying nothing. Canu raked his fingers through her scalp. He found lumps, no signs of fracture.
“Haha! Look at me. I’m the healer, now.”
Life flowed back into her eyes as he watched. She moved slowly, like chilled dragonfly being warmed by the sun. Her pupils focused. She pulled a cloth from her bosom and daubed at the blood running down the groove beside Canu’s nose.
“I am never … following you again,” she said. “Understood?”
“I never asked you to come with me,” said Canu.
“You said you would turn around,” said Pari.
“I couldn’t.”
“So instead you aim for a war wagon?”
“Where would you have me go? To the Alar’s
house?”
“Into the river would have been fine. Even the muddy fields would have stopped you.”
Voices clamored. Could they be cheers? Pari knelt on the seat and squinted through the lace of the shattered back window. “They’re coming back!” She scrambled to reload her crossbow.
Canu got out and climbed onto a hunk of the shattered wagon. Fighters had come up from the river bank and had fanned across the fields. Few wore armor. Most carried short swords and long bows.
“Simmer down,” said Canu. “These look like Nalkies.”
“Igwa?”
“Don’t think so,” said Canu. “Someone else.”
Many of the fighters coming across the fields wore sueded leggings, uncommon to Igwa’s band. Their veils were imprinted with nested triangles linked in chains unlike the broad, earth-toned stripes that the eastern Nalkies favored.
Another, smaller group emerged onto the road from a forest path brandishing Urep’o weapons.
“Those people,” said Canu. “If it wasn’t for them….” He couldn’t finish the thought.
“We’d be dead,” said Pari. “Who are they?”
A clear-eyed man with wavy hair and a jaunty gait strode up to the car. He threw open the back hatch of the vehicle. He was clearly Sesep’o.
“What an interesting coach,” he said. “Where did you acquire it?”
“Not as interesting as your weapon,” said Canu. “Seems we might be fellow travelers.”
“You’re no Traveler,” said the man. “I am Tezhay, of the Philosopher’s Guild. What is your excuse?”
Canu was taken aback. He didn’t know whose side this man might be on. “I am … we are … just soldiers,” said Canu. “Lost soldiers. This vehicle is here despite us, not because of us.”
“I am sure you have an interesting tale to tell,” said Tezhay, looking past the damaged wagon. “But we don’t want to be telling it to the Crasacs. They seem to be regrouping. We should not linger.”
“Your weapons … could hold them off,” said Canu.
“Empty,” said Tezhay. “We did not come expecting a battle.”
The Traveler looked back towards the Nalkies coming across the fields. More troops, including Sesep’o militia had crossed the river behind them.
“Where is your leader?” said Tezhay. “This spot is not defensible. But I can suggest a place that is.”
“We … I don’t have a leader,” said Canu. “But Captain Feril and Igwa lead the force that came down from those hills. I don’t know these other Nalkies.”
Knots of the Giep’o rebels came forward and seeped into landscape, infiltrating what little cover it had to offer as they halted out of bow range of the enemy forces gathering down the road. Among them walked a Urep’o couple, the man bearing a weapon just like comrade Tezhay’s.
“Oh my,” said the Traveler. “Look who we have here.”
***
Miles must have looked scared. Misty leaned over and whispered: “It’s okay, Miles. These guys look friendly.” She patted his shoulder gently.
But it wasn’t fear that made Miles quiver. His eyes were tethered to the Connecticut license plate of the red Prius wrecked against that monster of a wagon. They weaved their way through the carcasses of the oxen that had fallen in the crossfire.
“They wrecked my car,” said Miles, snorting like an angry bull. “They wrecked my fucking car.”
“Don’t think your insurance is gonna pay for this one,” said Misty.
The young man standing next to the Prius stared at Miles. The man’s bloody face could not disguise the crazed eyes that had haunted Miles in the parking lot behind the rock shop. Miles cringed.
“Oh my God, it’s him!”
“Who?” said Misty.
“One of the ones who sent me here.” Miles checked his clip. A few rounds remained. He raised the gun. “You … stay away from me.”
Tezhay strode up to him. “Give me that!”
“No,” said Miles. “That’s the guy who … kidnapped me.”
Tezhay snatched and ripped it from his grip.
“Give it back! That’s Tom’s gun.”
“First, you learn how to hold it,” said Tezhay. “We no point at friend.”
“Friend? This guy?”
“He is Sesep’o,” said Tezhay. “He fights with us. Look what he does to this wagon.”
“Yeah, with my own damn car,” said Miles.
“Is your, this car?” said Tezhay. “How you get it here?”
“I keep telling you guys. The car is how I got to this place.”
“By driving?” Tezhay smirked.
“Not … exactly.”
“I think I understand,” said Tezhay. “Is iron, the steel. Make the convergence stronger.”
“What’s a … convergence?” said Miles.
Tezhay sighed. “If you don’t know. It’s better I not tell you. Just be happy we find you. You are lucky.”
“Funny,” said Miles. “I don’t feel lucky.”
“Is not good time to move on the roads,” said Tezhay. “You could be killed.”
Another wagon like the one that was destroyed creaked into view up the road. Cuasars probed the defenses near the river.
“Tezhay!” called a female voice.
They all turned to see a man and two women trotting up on captured Cuasar horses, skittish and barely under their control.
“Oh my God. Teo? Idala? And who is this? Bimji?”
***
The three dismounted. Teo and Idala bumped Tezhay’s shoulders with vigor. Bimji hung back, his posture off-kilter, as if he had a problem with his arm or shoulder. Tezhay hugged him gently, avoiding any pressure on his bad side.
“It’s been years,” said Tezhay. “Your face has taken some damage.”
“You’re looking frayed at the edges yourself,” said Bimji.
“I met your wife, finally,” said Tezhay.
Bimji’s eyes widened. “Is she here? She’s okay?”
“She’s fine. She’s back at your place.”
Bimji’s breath gushed in relief.
“But there is a complication,” said Tezhay. “Did you know that she had an Urep’o husband?”
“Of course,” said Bimji. “When she was young. When she lived in Ur.”
“He is here,” said Tezhay.
“Oh!” said Bimji, putting his hand over his mouth. “Bowen?”
Tezhay nodded. “He is also called Doctor Frank. He is a healer.”
“Frank?” said Bimji. “Frank Bowen? Oh, this is … amazing. This is wonderful. She must be so happy. Lizbet was almost a child when she knew him.”
“Frank?” said Idala. “Are you talking about my Frank?”
“Where is the good doctor?” said Teo.
“He is bringing a casualty back to the farm,” said Tezhay. “Though, maybe he should have stayed here. I see you have plenty of wounded.”
“We have healers enough,” said Teo. She stared down the road at the gathering enemy. “What you see here is just the vanguard. There was a larger body mobilizing on the outskirts of Raacevo.”
“Why are you here?” said Tezhay. “Is this … the counteroffensive?”
“I was hoping you would know,” said Teo. “We came to learn why the Mercomar blinked out. These other fighters … the ones who saved us … some are Nalki but the rest are militia. Could it be?”
“Did you see eight flashes of eight?” said Tezhay.
“Two,” said Teo. “We saw two and then nothing. Not enough to mobilize us all, but enough to make us curious.”
Tezhay smirked. “Two? Are you sure?”
“One to the north and one to the west,” said Teo.
“Venep’o do everything in threes,” said Tezhay. “They’re obsessive that way. They would sooner burn down their tower than let a triplet go uncompleted.”
“Which is why we came … in part,” said Teo. “And explains the Venep’o response. Akin to poking the Alar with a hot stick.
We didn’t intend to come this far. But they trapped us near the road to Verden. It was the only direction we could flee.”
“I don’t think Bimji is complaining,” said Idala.
Bimji grinned, though his eyes seemed anxious.
“So who sabotaged the Mercomar?” asked Teo. “Do we even know?”
“Maybe it was them,” said Tezhay, nodding towards the contingent of Nalkies and militia approaching across the fields, some bearing goods from a plundered Venep’o supply wagon that had come forward prematurely along the river path.
“It was me,” said the young man who had driven the red car.
“You? Alone?”
“He had help,” said the woman accompanying him.
“Lots of help,” said a sweaty militia captain who came striding up, out of breath. He clasped hands in the manner of greeting used along Sesei’s coast. “Captain Feril, of Diomet, Seventy-second militia.” His clothes were clotted with clumps of mud and smears of blood.
“Who are you people?” said Tezhay. “Do you fight for the Second Cadre?”
“Of course,” said Captain Feril.
“Not me,” said the driver of the car. His companion jabbed her elbow into his ribs. “I … I fight for … Sesei.”
“So the counteroffensive … it’s happening, after all,” said Teo, looking energized but uncertain. “But I see only one company of militia. Where are the others?”
“I am sure we will see them soon,” said Captain Feril. “I suspect it takes some time to mobilize them. They’ve been camped in the marsh for months.”
Tezhay sidled close to Teo and spoke softly, not intending Captain Feril to overhear. “Any chance we might be dealing with rogues here?”
“Not at all!” said Feril. “Our orders came straight from Commander Baren.”
“We need to move. Now!” said Idala. “The Cuasars have locked shields. They’re forming up in their tight, little boxes. They await only a flag to advance.”
“Where to?” said Teo. “Across the river?”
“My farm commands the heights beyond this forest,” said Bimji. “It’s guarded by cliffs. A good place to organize a defense.”