by Alex Archer
The problem was Hansen. With the gun at her back, any sudden movement or even the suspicion that she would draw the sword would prompt an early discharge of the gun he held. Annja would find a bullet in her back before she could pivot and disarm him.
Not an ideal situation by any means.
Somehow, she thought, I need to get Wishman involved in this. Without his help, I’m done for.
But Wishman seemed oblivious to her machinations. The quiet, steady litany of sounds that issued from him seemed to float out of his body as if lighter than air, carrying up into the frozen atmosphere and drifting away on unseen updrafts.
Annja had never heard anything like the language he chanted. And even the scant bit of Inuit that she’d heard spoken around the camp seemed a far cry from the words coming from Wishman now. If they even were words. Annja had to remind herself that Wishman was a shaman, and as such, he probably knew a bunch of long-forgotten languages that melded with myth and legend to form the basis of his expertise.
Annja closed her eyes and willed her thoughts to break Wishman’s concentration. She had no idea if telepathy existed or not, but she was willing to try anything. She pictured Wishman in her mind, doing what he was doing. And then she formed a single thought and tried to picture herself speaking the command over and over again, eventually breaking through the barrier of concentration he’d thrown up by his chanting.
“Help me.”
She opened her eyes. Wishman continued as if not disturbed in the slightest. Annja sighed and tried one last time. “Help me!”
But again, the chanting merely continued. Annja frowned and looked at Derek, who was studying his watch intently. He did have an appointment to keep, after all. At last, he looked up at Hansen.
“It’s time.”
Hansen grunted. “What about these two?”
Derek nodded. “Give me the gun and I’ll cover them while you finish the preparations.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. And I’m not the explosives expert here. You are. Far easier for me to have the gun.”
Derek walked over and took his place behind Annja while Hansen went toward the opening of the burial mound and picked up the leads for the explosives and made sure they were attached to the detonator properly.
“Why not just do a remote trigger?” Annja asked.
Hansen shook his head. “We didn’t want to chance the possibility of the wires freezing or something that would have delayed or disrupted the signal. That’s not the kind of situation you want to be in, having to check things out and get closer and closer only to have it go boom in your face.”
“Yeah,” Annja said. “We sure wouldn’t want anything to happen to you guys. That’d be terrible.”
Derek poked her in the spine. “Watch your mouth or I’ll make you suffer.”
Annja glanced back at him. “I think I’m going to do that to you as soon as I get out of here.”
“Who said anything about you leaving?”
“You haven’t killed me yet.”
Derek grinned. “That’s only because we need a sacrificial first meal for what we’re about to release. You and the old man over there are first up for nourishment. It’s considered to be quite an honor.”
“By who? You and the rest of the guests at the Nutjob House?”
Derek frowned. “I should know better than to waste my breath on the likes of you.”
Annja shook her head. “So, who goes first? Me or Wishman?”
“I don’t know. It’s not up to us. Our god will decide who to eat first and then the other will be taken in time.”
“Great.”
Wishman’s chanting increased, for the first time attracting Derek’s attention. He frowned. “What’s he doing?”
“How the hell would I know?”
“You’re an archaeologist. You’re supposed to know these things.”
Annja smirked. “Yeah, well, he’s not in the ground, so I can’t dig him up and uncover his secrets. And you should know from my dossier that your group of sickos put together that Inuit culture isn’t a strong point for me.”
“Yes, I do recall that. But you do have something so much more valuable to us than your brain power.”
“If you mention any part of my body next, I’m going to rip your arms out of their sockets.”
Derek chuckled. “I’m not into cheap pickup lines.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet you just play wingman for Hansen there. Let him do all the talking and you pick up the scraps.”
“I do no such thing.”
“Did I hit a nerve?” Annja smiled. “I’ll bet you two are quite the pair. First you spot a potential couple of ladies and then, what—decide who brings up the human sacrifice to the ancient evil god? Yeah, I can see a lot of women being impressed by that approach. Seriously.”
Derek jabbed her in the back with the pistol again. “I’m tired of your sarcasm. It’s not amusing in the least.”
“Well, I was having a good time.”
Derek looked at Wishman. “Time to stop your chanting, old man. There’s no help coming to you now. Your destiny is at hand.”
Wishman’s eyes opened. He glared at Derek. “So, you have made your final decision.”
It wasn’t a question, but Derek nodded anyway. “Yes. There was never any doubt in my mind as to what to do. We have been searching for this place for far too long.”
Wishman looked at Annja. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Keeping him distracted with that inane chatter.”
Annja frowned. “Excuse me?”
Wishman lifted his head to the sky as the first rays of sunshine started to breach the dark blue of night. He smiled as if welcoming an old friend and then looked again at Annja. “I meant no insult by what I said. But it did serve its purpose of keeping his mind occupied for the time I needed.”
Derek pointed the gun at Wishman. “Perhaps my god will grant me the right to kill you here and now.”
Wishman stared at him. “You aren’t that stupid. Your god will demand nourishment such as only a physical living specimen can provide. For you to rob him of that would be to give yourself an even more excruciating death than what is already in store for you.”
“Still convinced of yourself, aren’t you?” Derek asked.
Wishman smiled. “You are but a boy playing in an old man’s world. And I have lived so very many years and seen far too many things that perhaps none should ever see. I have been through life and death before. And I will be here long after this situation passes.” His eyes narrowed. “The same, however, cannot be said of you. Or your friend there.”
Derek placed the gun barrel between Wishman’s eyes. “Are you willing to wager your life on that?”
Wishman’s eyes twinkled. “Are you?”
In that second, Annja drew the sword out and immediately spun to slash Derek’s gun hand.
But even as she did, Hansen shouted a warning and Derek recoiled, trying to pull back and put some distance between himself and her blade. At the same time, he started to jerk the pistol up, getting the sights onto Annja, who came rushing right at him.
The gun exploded; its sharp retort broke open the silence of the predawn and echoed across the plain.
Annja’s body twisted as the bullet came screaming at her, cutting a hot swath through the air. She heard it hiss through the frozen morning and kept pressing her attack.
Derek leaped sideways and again brought the gun up to fire.
Another shot exploded and Annja felt a sudden burn as the round scored a line across the back of her neck. But then Derek was already squeezing the trigger again as she hit the ground, rolling with the sword, slicing for the gun itself.
She felt the impact of metal on metal and then her blade dislodged the gun as another round came hurtling out of the barrel. It tumbled and spanged off a nearby tree, spitting bark and snow into the air.
Annja jumped up and Derek closed the distance, punching deep i
nto her abdomen, driving her wind out of her lungs.
Annja grappled with him and felt his fingers turn into claws as he raked at her eyes. Derek pressed his attack, bringing up a leg to kick Annja in the knee. His boot glanced off her leg, but she felt the impact and grunted, going down into the snow.
From inside his jacket, Derek produced the shan-nahk that Annja had seen Godwin take from the two bar thugs back in Inuvik. But this one seemed longer than that knife. Different somehow.
Annja stood to face Derek, aware that her knee ached. He smiled at her. The blade in his hand was at least twelve inches long, and he must have had it concealed in a sheath that ran down his side.
“Brought your knife to play?” Annja smirked. “It’s not going to be much of a contest.”
Derek grinned now. “You think? It will be fun watching the expression on your face melt away when you realize this is something far more potent than any blade you’ve ever encountered before.”
“Do tell.” Annja circled in the deeper snow, trying to put the rising sun at her back. But Derek wasn’t as big a fool as she’d thought, and he kept moving to the side, as well.
“This blade has been made more powerful by the spells and curses of a dozen high priests of the Amur Nal.”
“Name doesn’t ring a bell. Should it?”
Derek swayed back and forth. Annja could see this blade had a long curve and sharp hooked end. It looked like a nasty weapon, the kind that could produce truly horrible wounds. She didn’t like the idea of getting any cuts from it.
“They’re from a land before our time. So, no, I wouldn’t expect someone like you to know anything about them at all. But it doesn’t matter. For the magic they embodied, this blade with is far older and more powerful than anything that has ever touched this earth since.”
“All this talk of magic,” Annja said. “It gets really tiring.”
Derek grinned. “Then we should join the battle and be done with it. I have my god to awaken.”
“And I have you to stop,” Annja said.
“Oh, you won’t stop me,” Derek said. “You’ll never be able to stop the inevitable.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Have you?” For the briefest moment, Derek’s eyes glanced away and his mouth turned into a wicked smile. “Do it.”
Annja started her attack, but in that split second, the ground suddenly rolled as if a great belch was coming from the belly of the Earth itself. A rumble of dust and smoke shot out of the mouth of the burial mound.
Hansen stood close by with his hands on the detonator. There was a pleased expression on his face.
Wishman was on his knees, eyes cast skyward in deep prayer.
Annja glanced back at Derek, who wore the same wicked smile as Hansen.
“It’s done,” he said. “The wall is now open.”
23
Annja waited as the cloud of black dust, dirt and wood fragments came to rest on the white snow around the burial mound. There seemed to be a pause in everyone’s actions. Derek still gripped his blade in a fighting stance, but his eyes were with Annja’s on the entrance to the burial mound. Hansen looked extremely pleased with himself, but he, too, stared at the entryway. Only Wishman didn’t focus on the burial mound, but instead on the sky above him.
Annja figured she’d seen too many monster movies because she partly expected that some giant seething monster too hideous to describe would suddenly heave open the earth and shudder itself free.
No such thing happened.
Annja frowned. Her sword still gleamed in her hands. There was evil present, certainly, but was it something more than what Derek and Hansen represented? She had no idea and could only stand there and wonder.
“Is that it?” she asked.
Derek smiled. “Remember the words spoken by the old Araktak man over there. Remember that he said that our god would be invisible to eyes like yours.”
Annja frowned. “So, maybe then he doesn’t even exist, huh? Or you have to be insane to believe that he’s here. Could be that, too, right?”
“He is here,” Derek said. “And you will soon feel the heat of his embrace. He has long been locked away behind the barriers of magic that we have helped destroy. It is a good time for you to die.”
“I thought you wanted that privilege for yourself,” Annja said.
Derek snarled at her. “I would never dream of taking something for myself that already belongs to my master. My goal was merely to keep you here until it was time to unleash my master.”
Annja smirked. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“We’ll soon find out.”
Wishman’s voice suddenly erupted into an abject cry. His body seemed to rear back and then stiffen as he toppled face-first into the snow. Something shimmered over his body, and to Annja it looked almost like the heat mirage she saw when driving over hot patches of highway in the heat of summer.
Her eyes narrowed and she tried to see deeper into the scene. Was there something there? Or was she imagining it now because of the nonstop litany of propaganda she’d been hearing from Derek and Hansen? Wishman hadn’t helped, either, but at least he was supposedly on the side of good.
Derek’s voice was low and filled with wonder. “He lives. Our master lives, Hansen!”
Hansen nodded. “Indeed. See how he feasts upon the body of the old Inuit shaman? Truly a wonder to behold. We are indeed fortunate to have lived to see this benevolence.”
Annja looked at Derek and Hansen and shook her head. The shimmering haze seemed to have vanished. Annja spun around, searching for it.
Neither Hansen nor Derek said anything. But they both turned to look at her and both men seemed to drift farther away.
“What are you doing?” Annja asked.
They said nothing in reply. Annja brought her sword up in front of her in case either of them launched a surprise attack. But Derek had lowered his blade and was busy putting it back into its sheath.
A wave of pain passed through Annja’s body. She grunted and kept the sword in front of her centerline.
As she backed up, she suddenly stumbled and went down on her back in the deep snow. The sword landed next to her and sank beneath the top layer of white. Annja’s hands scrambled to find it. She looked around and as she stared at Derek and Hansen, she thought she saw the same shimmering haze only a few feet in front of her.
She found the sword and held it out and in front of her. I don’t know what that thing is, she thought, but we’ll see if it likes the sword.
Annja stabbed out into the shimmering haze and marveled when it felt as if her blade actually cut into something denser than the frosty air. Her ears suddenly felt as if they were completely blocked and then an unseen force blew her sideways.
Annja toppled, feeling the snow’s cold bite into her skin. She scrambled and came up with the sword again, wiping the melting snow from her face. Her eyes ran with the water and a sudden moistness.
She could see Derek and Hansen smiling from the other side of the clearing. How had she gotten so far away from them in such a short span of time? How was that even possible?
Was there really a dark god that she was battling now? She couldn’t see anything and now she couldn’t hear anything, either. Annja landed hard and the wind rushed out of her lungs again. The sword landed point up, some distance away. Annja scrambled to her feet.
She turned and looked and then saw the shimmering haze again. I’m either crazy or that thing is actually attacking me, she thought. And then she frowned. But why hasn’t it attacked like it did with Wishman?
He was old, she thought then. And despite his powers, he was probably weak.
Annja ran across the snow and grabbed her sword as she went. She would need something else if she was going to survive this. But what? What other skills did she have that she could call forth now? She’d never battled a god before. And the sword didn’t come with a user’s manual.
With the sword in her hands, Annja turned an
d then closed her eyes. And there in the swirling gray mists of her mind’s eye, she saw it suddenly. A heaving, hulking beast that lumbered across the plain, leaving huge tracks in its wake. Sweeping paws or hands or claws dangled by its side and the air around it shimmered as it passed through.
Annja kept her eyes closed and brought up her sword. The creature that she had decided most resembled a giant tree sloth swatted at her blade. In her mind’s eye, Annja’s blade glowed a bright silver in contrast to the red outline that denoted the creature.
Was this the dark god that Derek and Hansen had called forth from the prison cell that they had opened? Annja felt her blade connect with the red outline and there was a discharge of incredible energy.
Annja grunted and she thought she heard the creature howl.
I’ve hurt it, Annja thought. The blade can do battle here with it. As long as she stayed inside herself, she could fight it.
One of the creature’s mighty limbs swung in from the left, seeking to thunder into Annja again. She pivoted and dropped beneath the crushing arc. As it passed overhead, she stabbed up into the exposed limb and felt her blade slide neatly in. She twisted and cut back and forth before heaving it out. As she did so, a shower of liquid seemed to fall over her shoulders, and she smelled a pungent scent breaking through her consciousness, as well.
The creature’s blood must have been a foul and vile thing indeed.
She could hear its shrieks now amid their battle. It was angry and wanted her dead. I’d be angry, too, she thought, if after being imprisoned for so many years, the first person I saw was beating the crap out of me.
She almost laughed but then she felt a sudden explosion of pain in her gut. She was lifted off the ground and flew through the air in the gray mist of her mind. Annja tumbled and struck something she thought was the ground. She rolled, her breath coming out of her in heaves, trying to get to her feet.
The red outline of the creature came at her again and Annja ran to meet it. She swelled with the energy of her blade and her mission, slicing this way and that, trying her best to cut this thing down and be done with it. She saw her edge pierce the red outline over and over again, and the howls that assaulted her ears broke like a thunderstorm over her head, echoing and debilitating. But Annja gritted her teeth and fought on, possessed of a savagery she had not yet known.