The Archivist

by Tom D Wright

  “Can you tell how they are treating Danae?” I ask, recalling the last time she was in the clutches of a band of Disciples. I like to think I am not a violent person by nature, but when I picture the leader taking liberties with her, I am ready to kill.

  “Hard to tell,” Little Crow responds as he examines the campsite again. “But I don’t see any signs of abuse.”

  Angie speaks up. “They think she’s an Archivist who’s to be offered to the Goddess, so they won’t dare to defile her, if that’s what you’re concerned about. They’ll leave that for the high priest. At least until she gets to Wolfengarde, she should be safe.”

  “That’s good, I suppose,” I respond.

  Little Crow swings back up onto his horse and we continue winding through the hills. Malsum follows the scent, with Angie riding on her back, and the lioness now takes the lead, while Little Crow and I fall back. Angie seems lost in her own world right now, anyway.

  “So, how did you meet Ange?” Little Crow asks out of the blue.

  Really, now she is Ange? She never let me call her that. I glance sideways at Little Crow, wondering where this sudden interest comes from, but I keep my thoughts to myself.

  “Actually not far from here, and we may camp there tonight. I was traveling along this road to Georges, the city we came from up north. She came into my campsite one night.”

  It was late spring, and I was combining a retrieval job with searching for some sign of Damien, who had gone MIA in this region a couple years prior. I did not expect to find him alive, but I hoped to hear some rumor or tale about an Archivist.

  My travels turned nothing up—and in fact, until Angie mentioned seeing him in the Disciple capital, I had no idea what his fate was. At the time, of course, I had no reason to ask her about an Archivist.

  As usual, I was traveling alone, and I made camp by a stream in a wooded area. While I ate a simple meal by the campfire, I realized that I was being watched from the trees outside the glow of the fire. It had to be a human, since it moved on two feet—unless kangaroos somehow made it here from Australia. From the sounds it made, I guessed it was just one person.

  As I spread out my blanket for sleeping, I discreetly tucked my crossbow next to my makeshift pillow and set my backpack on the other side of the fire, where I could watch it. Then I settled down for the night, but I only feigned sleep.

  The watcher was quite patient and waited over an hour, by my reckoning of the movement of the stars. Then I heard the quiet crunch of soil as someone crept toward my camp. The fire had died down to a low glow, so I only saw a slender figure bending over the pack.

  Since it was not attacking, I simply watched while it slowly undid the top flap and reached inside. Moments later, I heard a loud snap and closed my eyes against the bright flash from inside the pack. The intruder’s body dropped without a sound.

  I had a little time before the effects of the taser wore off, so I tossed some wood onto the fire for illumination and then examined the prowler. She turned out to be a young woman perhaps in her late teens or early twenties and, gauging from how thin, dirty and disheveled she was, she had been living off the land for a while.

  By the time I tied her hands and sat her up, she started regaining motor control. At first she refused to speak, but eventually she told me that her name was Angelina, she lived in the woods, and was just searching my backpack for food. After confirming that she had no weapon other than a small knife, I turned her loose.

  Once she understood I was willing to share my food with her, she was open with me about her situation. The next day, I offered to take her with me to Georges.

  Angie was somewhat weak from malnutrition, so it took us a week to make the trek. By the time we got to the town, she told me of her escape from the Disciple lifestyle she grew up in.

  Angie and her mother were captured by the Disciples from an Hombre band when Angie was a toddler. All she recalled from that time was playing in the soil while her mother cultivated a small field. For some arcane reason, the Disciples decided Angie’s mother was destined to be one of their high priestesses, so Angie grew up in the Temple.

  As the daughter of a Disciple high priestess, she had spent countless hours learning to identify and collect herbs and plants. So when we got to Georges, I gave her the seed money to start her herb shop, and stopped by several times over the next couple of years as she built it into a full-blown naturopathic pharmacy.

  From the beginning, though, she had developed quite an infatuation with me. Angie was never shy about what she wanted, which led to disastrous effects the last time I came to visit.

  Based on Little Crow’s apparent interest in Angie, I decide to keep those last details to myself.

  The sun is noon-high by the time I finish recounting my story to Little Crow. We stop for a lunch break in a small meadow next to a stream where the horses can drink, and graze on some sweet grass.

  Angie stumbles when she slides down off Malsum, and Little Crow leaps forward to catch her. She thanks him quietly as she rests her hand on his shoulder, and almost reluctantly steps back. But when he tries to take her pack, she refuses to let him do it.

  “No, I have to do this myself,” she insists as she sets it down, and feels along the side for where the water skin hangs. “I need to know exactly where everything is placed.”

  After she retrieves her food and water skin, I notice that she sits next to Little Crow and leans her leg against his while they talk quietly. I spend my lunchtime talking to Malsum, who seems to appreciate the attention.

  We continue throughout the afternoon, winding through low hills that eventually give way to broad open grassland, where we come across another fresh campsite. This one is more recent. Angie and I remain mounted while Little Crow slips down to examine the site quickly.

  “They were here this morning,” he says, and then he jumps back on his horse.

  We spend most of the remaining daylight maintaining a trot across the grassy plain, until we cross a small washout, where a creek nourishes scraggly trees.

  It is close to dark, and we are unlikely to find any better places to stop for the night. I want to push through the night, but Little Crow says we cannot risk missing any critical tracks.

  While we get the horses taken care of with water and some food, Angie uses her cane to search around the campsite for some rocks. I can see that she is determined to prove herself useful, probably more to herself than to us, so when Little Crow moves to help her I grab his arm and shake my head.

  By the time we are done with the horses, she has formed a small fire pit by pushing the rocks over and settling them in place by feel.

  “You gather some firewood, and I’ll take care of Angelina’s bandages,” Little Crow says. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

  I give him some quick instruction; there is really not a lot to it. I hand over the material, and then set about gathering what scrawny wood I can find for our fire.

  By the time I have dumped an armload by the fire pit, Little Crow is wrapping the bandage over her eyes carefully while they whisper to each other. Angie rests her hand on Little Crow’s arm and slides closer to him, so I decide to look a little further afield for another load of firewood.

  When I return, Little Crow has a small fire going. We sit around the fire, chewing on our dried provisions, Little Crow and Angie together on one side. Little Crow brings a blanket to keep her warm. Even in the dim light of the campfire, it is easy to see them holding hands underneath it.

  After a long day of constant riding, we are all exhausted, although the horses we obtained from the Hombres seem to hold up better than we do—probably because they are accustomed to long travel.

  A breeze blows through the trees above as I lay staring up into the starry sky. The wind moves all the branches, and as they sway, it seems like the trees are actually animated.

  The next morning we get an early start, and Malsum confirms that we are still heading in the right direction when she sniffs Danae
’s garment and picks up the trail again. We spend most of the day once again traveling across open plain.

  Every time we come over a rise, I hope to catch sight of our quarry ahead of us, but the only movement turns out to be an occasional animal. Malsum is always eager to pursue them, but also seems cognizant of the burden she bears.

  We pass the next Disciple campsite by late morning, and Little Crow declares that we should catch up to them by early tomorrow, if we can continue to maintain our pace.

  At about the time we are ready to break for a quick lunch, the main road we’re following makes a turn to the west, back toward the mountains, and eventually the coast. A lesser-worn trail—almost indiscernible but clearly worn by recent travel—continues south. Malsum does not hesitate to turn south.

  It was many years ago when she last passed this way, but when we describe the crossroad, Angie confirms that the less-worn trail leads to Wolfengarde.

  We will take a day and a half to get through the mountains, she says, and then come down onto another broad open plain. From there, it is a few hours to the low hills that surround the Disciple capitol, so we definitely want to catch up to them by the next morning.

  The day winds by and we put the miles behind us. Little Crow spends most of the time riding alongside Angie. From the snippets I catch of their conversation, he is telling her about his tribe and describing their land. She seems particularly interested in hearing about Running Deer.

  Angie in turn recounts her experiences in the hills around Wolfengarde, collecting the various plants used in Disciple rituals.

  Now that we have moved off the plains, the trail winds through gradually rising hills. We ascend through switchbacks over ridges, and several times, Malsum makes deep rumbles when she catches a scent of her quarry. My heart quickens each time.

  I sense that Danae is nearby and yearn to keep going, but I stop reluctantly to make camp as night falls. Little Crow examines the tracks made by the Disciple band, and says that if we rise just before dawn, we might even catch up with them before they break camp.

  Malsum would be in her element if we came upon them in the dark, but we humans would be at a distinct disadvantage. We want to close in on our prey at the time and place of our choosing.

  We lay out our small camp next to a large river and get a small campfire going. Angie deliberately spreads her blanket next to Little Crow’s. Emptiness aches within me; my thoughts are a confused tumble of both Sarah and Danae.

  What I see developing between my two friends makes me aware of what I myself lack—what I have lacked for many, many years. For once, I do not shove it away.

  After we have eaten a Spartan meal, and Little Crow changes Angie’s bandages, I take a small spool of fishing line out of a side pocket of my backpack.

  “I’m going down to the river to see if I can catch some fish. I’ll probably be gone for an hour or so.”

  I slip the fishing line into a coat pocket as I walk away, and stop to scratch Malsum’s ears. “Yeah, we’re just in the way now, aren’t we?” I whisper to Malsum, and then I continue.

  My pretext was to slip away and give them some private time, but on a deeper level, I need the private time for myself.

  The night sky provides enough light to hike my way upstream about a hundred yards, until I reach a large, flat rock, where I lay down and stare up at the stars. Mars is rising above the ridge; I try to recall a home I barely remember.

  Is Sarah looking at Earth during a Martian sunrise, thinking about me? Perhaps we are looking at each other at this moment, across the millions of miles. Again I feel a ravenous emptiness within, as real as any physical pain.

  This empty space inside me is why I desperately cling to my love for Sarah. For months after I landed on Earth and joined the Archives, I barely functioned, and actually considered suicide a couple of times.

  What stopped me and got me back on my feet was knowing that she is still out there; going into retrieving is how I kept myself going for her, and for what we once had.

  Even when I was certain there was no prospect of ever returning, it was the foundation I rebuilt my life on. If I let go of it now, everything inside of me will crumble. I am not sure whether I do retrievals because I have never stopped looking for something inside, or because I am running away from it.

  What I do know, is that retrieving is all I have to hold on to.

  It has been years since I freely allowed myself to crave Sarah the way I have on this retrieval. I think about her gentle touch on my arm; the sly smile that grows across her face like a sunrise when she teases me; her small, perfect breast resting in my cupped hand while the soft lips of her mouth merge with mine. Missing her this way is worse than death.

  Eventually, the ache of the cold rock I am lying on becomes stronger than the ache inside. I have probably given Little Crow and Angie plenty of quality time, so I rise and head back downstream to the camp. My companions are huddled together under their blanket. Malsum is off somewhere, probably hunting, and the campfire is burning low.

  I build up the fire, and when Malsum comes back, I slip under my own blanket and turn in for the night.

  I drift in and out of sleep, dreaming about returning to Mars. Landing craft thrusters fire as the Martian surface approaches, and the red landscape stretches out as far as I can see. It is more barren than the driest desert I have ever crossed.

  Even if we proceeded with our original terraforming project, it would be generations before the surface became hospitable enough for life to spread out openly.

  But it is my home, and the shuttle vibrates slightly as the legs settle on the surface and the engines spool down. After Earth’s relentless gravity, it is almost like I float, in the light Mars gravity. The airlock tube clicks as it seals with the craft. Then the door opens, and I step through the hatch.

  Sarah bounces down the airlock tube to greet me with a tight embrace, and I bend my face down to kiss her, in a soul-merging, time-stopping joining. In my dream, when I open my eyes, it is Danae that I hold tight in my arms.

  I awaken from my dreams just as dawn begins to lighten the sky. We rise and pack to resume our hunt. Anticipation mounts within me that we will come upon the Disciple camp and take them by surprise. About an hour later, the surprise is ours when we come across another Disciple campsite. Little Crow curses when he jumps down to check it out. He only examines the site for a few seconds.

  “They broke camp in the middle of the night,” he says as he leaps back onto his horse. “We’ve actually lost ground.”

  With renewed urgency, we push forward, keeping eyes and ears sensitive for any sign of our quarry. We do not want to alert them to the fact that they are being pursued, but as usual, it is Malsum who picks up the first traces. Her ears perk up and swivel forward, while her tail begins to lash back and forth with agitation. Angie is probably the only reason the lioness holds back.

  When we cross over the pass, we catch sight of them for the first time.

  They are in view only for a few moments, as they wind their way up a switchback near the crest of the next ridge, but there is no mistaking Danae’s beautiful, deep-red hair, rippling in the mountain breeze like a flag as she rides a horse, with her wrists bound in front of her. Then they pass into some trees, and we see their silhouettes briefly once more before they crest the ridge and pass over to the other side.

  We urge our protesting steeds forward. Less than an hour later, we are about to cross the same ridgeline. There we pause, while Little Crow and I scramble to the crest so we can survey the far side, which slopes down to a broad plain.

  About 1500 feet below us, emerging from the trees onto the shrub-covered open land, is a small group of four horses with riders, including Danae, and five men on foot.

  Seeing them so close, a rush of energy flows through me. I am turning to hurry back down to our mounts when Little Crow grips my arm and points into the distance. I look where he points, and the emotional rush turns into crushing defeat.

&
nbsp; Heading north to meet the small group we are pursuing, is a large column of men.

  After all these days of pursuit, we ended up an hour too far behind.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Since we have no chance of overtaking our quarry on the open plain, Little Crow recommends that we make our way carefully down the hillside to a spot where we can shelter for the rest of the day under the cover of the trees. Then, once night falls, we can cross the open land and take up position outside of Wolfengarde.

  The idea of waiting practically kills me, but I can offer no better alternative.

  We move down the mountain cautiously, staying off the trail and under the trees, since we know there are Disciples heading our way. Remaining undetected is far more important now than haste. Halfway down the hillside, Malsum signals with a chirp that she hears someone coming, so we drop and freeze, and hope the horses stay quiet.

  A few minutes, later a detachment of Disciples trudges uphill. When we resume moving, we skirt around a small open glen. Far out on the plain, I see that Danae’s group has met up with the column. As I pause at the edge of the trees to watch, half the column turns south to accompany Dane’s group while the other half resumes their northward advance.

  I start to reach for my field glasses, and then recall bitterly that I lost them in Georges. As the antlike figures move across the landscape, I long for another glimpse of Danae, so I can reassure myself that she is unharmed.

  Before this other group reaches the hillside, we find a spot a couple of hundred feet above the floor of the valley to settle down on for the remainder of the day. Free of Angie, Malsum wanders off, but we are not worried about her safety. God help anything that runs into her.

  I doze fitfully throughout the afternoon. Filtered sunlight through the trees offers little warmth, but it does take the edge off of the chilly air.