Prophecy

by James Axler

  The feeling of dread that had swept over him before he blacked out had now gone. He had no wish to dwell on it, but still it puzzled him as to what had triggered emotions that were usually so alien.

  Massaging feeling back into limbs that had started to cramp, Jak rose unsteadily to his feet and took a good look around. He looked up at the sky, studied the position of the rising sun. From this he looked to the plateaus that marked the farthest points of vision.

  He realized something that Mildred and J.B. would fail to pick up on—from the position of the distant ranges, misty in the early morning, and the place in the sky of the rising sun, Jak knew that he had traveled a vast distance for the duration of the storm, the kind of distance where he must have been walking for more than twenty-four hours.

  It seemed impossible. Thinking back, the span of time did not seem that great. It had seemed only like an hour or two that he had been in the swirling seas of dirt, insects and frogs. Yet there was no sign of the latter around him. Neither would a simple hour or two of walking, even with the protracted period of cold and inaction, account for the weariness he felt in his limbs. Had he been out of it for most of the time that he had walked? Or had something happened to alter his sense of time?

  Jak didn’t know how the storm could have done this, but he could think of no other reason to account for this. If nothing else, it might explain the strange emotions that had overwhelmed him just before the blackout. In truth, it did not matter now. All he could do was accept it and try to find his way back to where he believed the others would be waiting.

  No. Just Ryan and Krysty. It was strange that memory was so hard. Vague impressions came to him: Doc, ranting in the storm, talking crap like usual, with J.B. and Mildred trying to rein him in, bring him to shelter. Then Doc breaking away, losing sight of them all in the solid fog that the plain had thrown up around them.

  Why had he done something so stupe as to leave shelter and try to aid them, especially when he knew in his gut that there was little chance, and he would only add to the confusion? And why had Ryan and Krysty let him? The weird shit storm. It had to be that. The frogs and insects were weird on the outside, and the way they had acted was weird on the inside.

  Jak just accepted that. There was little point in worrying about it. Now that it had happened, and it could be used to account for why he had ended up where he was, all that mattered was whether it was still affecting him. If it was, then there was no guarantee that he could rely on his instincts and senses to find his friends.

  Jak sniffed the air. It was dry and arid, with little scent and only the lingering moisture of the cold night air. He felt it fill his lungs, and listened to the faint sounds of the air currents as they hummed around him, barely there, but discernible if you were attuned.

  There was nothing in him that felt wrong, or even unusual. Whatever the storm had brought with it, so it had also taken with its passing.

  Jak figured that the best he could do would be to try to head back toward the area where he thought he had left the wag. He couldn’t be exact, but reasoned that in this kind of wide-open expanse, a vehicle like the one he was seeking would soon stand out against the vastness of the plain. He thought back, tried to recall the outlines of the land as he had seen it before the storm ascended. It wasn’t easy. The wag chase across the plain had made the landscape move with a rapidity that hindered recall. There had been other things to take his attention, after all. But despite this, he was sure of a rough bearing that he could take.

  Steeling himself for the long march ahead, he shook himself down, then began to walk, one foot in front of another. Failure was not an option.

  After about an hour, he could hear a change in the movement of the air. It was something almost out of the range of hearing, but it was there: a note that changed slightly in pitch—a wag engine, moving away from him. He cursed. No point in hurrying after it. There was too much distance, and already it had moved before the sound reached him.

  Shaking his head, he changed course slightly to follow the direction of the distant sound.

  This new course took him, within an hour, to the shelter of a rock outcrop that stretched some fifteen feet into the air, with an overhang that offered shade in the increasing heat of the day. He looked up at the clear sky, at the burning orb of the sun, which was still some way from the center of the sky. It was going to get a whole heap warmer. The receding wag noise told him that there was little need to hurry. Perhaps a brief rest would be beneficial.

  It was only as he turned to move toward a now welcoming shelter that he became aware of something else.

  How could he have missed it? Jak cursed himself. Obviously he was not as triple red as he thought. There were still some aftereffects from his recent ordeal, and his focusing on the wag noise had been at the expense of any other possible dangers.

  For now he was aware of other people, about eight or ten, barely moving, not talking. Perhaps resting, or in some way conserving energy? There was the faint scent of a dead fire on the air, embers and remnants of smoke. Not just people, either; horses. Unnaturally quiet, or so it seemed. Jak was shaken by his own inability to pick up on this sooner, but dismissed the feeling. There was no time for this.

  He hastened his approach, and also became more stealthy. He scanned the outcropping, wondering how he could make a recce without making his presence known. The rock was about ten yards across, and rose at a steep angle. The portion facing him was smooth, with little in the way of handholds. A few cracks in the rock, with barely existing and ragged foliage drooping miserably, were all that presented themselves.

  Looking up, he could see that the ridge at the top of the crop was narrow, only a yard or two that angled upward, and seemed to offer nothing but a sheer drop and no cover.

  Taking this as his only option, Jak reached the rock wall and began to climb, keeping as silent as was possible. With each hand- and foothold he paused, holding his breath as though that would prevent any disturbance.

  As he reached the apex of the climb, he could feel the effect. Muscles ached and trembled, sweat poured off him. When he was on the ridge that formed a shelter, he paused momentarily, hungrily gulping in air while still being cautious.

  Feeling more like his old self, he edged forward and carefully looked over the lip of the rock ledge.

  What he saw almost made him exclaim in surprise.

  Beneath, sheltered in the shadow of the outcropping, stood a small ville of tepees. The dyed and patterned cloth shelters, supported on constructs of wood, num bered nine. An equal number of horses was tethered a short distance away. The tepees were circled around the remains of a fire: it was this that had scented to Jak, along with the horses. Six men sat around the now dead fire, each with his head bent and perfectly still, as though in meditation. Perhaps they were.

  That left three men missing.

  Jak slowly rolled over so that he could see behind where he lay. The missing three men were behind him. Two had their long black hair in plaits that they wore loose. The other had his hair, unplaited, held back by a bandanna. All three wore vests of a tanned leather, festooned with feather and clay decorations. Their pants were of the same tanned leather, but were not decorated, except by colored thread in the stitching. Their moccasins were battered and hardy.

  They carried no weapons, and they stood in a loose, easy manner that showed no obvious threat. But each man was stocky and heavily muscled. Their faces were impassive, so it was impossible to judge their intent.

  Jak knew that he had been unforgivably slack in his approach to the crop, the lack of attention he had paid to his own back trail. Whatever happened now, he had to accept that he was responsible for his own position. Studying them, he could see that the one with the bandanna was closest. He would have to be the first point of attack. He could palm a knife, which would even the odds a little. Nonetheless, at such close quarters, to be outnumbered three-to-one were less than great odds. Especially as he was prone, and they were looming
over him.

  Jak tensed himself. Would they expect him to attack? Surprise might be all he had…

  But it was Jak who was to be taken by surprise.

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Six

  “White man…whiter than white man,” the Native American with the bandanna chuckled. “Legend never told us it would be like this.”

  Jak had been poised to spring to his feet and take his chances. But the tone of the man’s voice disarmed him. There was no malice in there; no hint of any hostility. If anything, he seemed to take the view that Jak was friend rather than foe.

  Instinct would not let Jak completely let down his guard. Nonetheless, he relaxed slightly, the tension slackening in his muscles.

  “We don’t mean you harm,” one of the others said, “but we couldn’t risk you attacking.”

  Jak nodded. If he was in their position, he would act defensively. And he had to give it to them; they were good. It was a more than evenly matched standoff, and they knew it.

  “What do with me now?” he asked, aware that while he was still prone he was at their mercy.

  “Well, if you’re not going to turn around and attack as soon as you get the chance, we were going to offer you food and shelter. You look like you could use it.”

  Jak looked down at himself as he lay recumbent. He was covered in dust and dirt, with livid bruises and welts raised on his white skin by impact with rocks. Streaks of blood colored his skin. He figured that he had to look a whole lot worse than he felt.

  “Why give me that?” he asked.

  The three men exchanged looks. The one in the middle sighed, then scratched his chin. He was so casual that it seemed as though they were old compatriots rather than men who had just been facing off.

  “Look, Whitey, it’s hard to explain. Probably might sound crazy and stupe unless you know already.” He studied Jak’s blank canvas of a face carefully, then continued. “Maybe you do. Don’t give much away if you do. Come with us, and we’ll explain.”

  “Okay. Not trust you, though.”

  The man with the bandanna laughed. “No more than we can trust you, right now. C’mon.”

  Beckoning Jak to follow him, he turned and went back down the shallow shelf of rock, starting the climb down. He was followed by one of the others, who looked over his shoulder to ensure that Jak was following. As the albino teen got to his feet, he noted that the third man stepped back, but did not immediately follow his compatriots. He waited for Jak to move. Figuring that he would do exactly the same thing under such circumstances, Jak scrambled to his feet and followed, allowing the man to wait for him before bringing up the rear.

  The two leading Native Americans were already waiting for him on the floor of the plain as he started his descent. Knowing this, and knowing that he had another above, Jak would have waited to attack if that had been his aim. But right now, he was more concerned with discovering why these men were acting in a friendly manner toward him. With the wag noise having long since vanished into the distance, it was also a certainty that he would need to make allies to survive. At least, until such time as he was able to begin searching for his companions.

  The four men made their way around the outcropping to where camp had been pitched. Those warriors who had been deep in meditation were now on their feet. As Jak was led to them, they already had food and water ready for him. It was as though they had every confidence in his compliance. As though they had been expecting him.

  Jak ate and drank in silence. He was determined to give nothing away, and would wait for these men to make the first move. Were these men his captors, or his salvation? He was unsure.

  When he had eaten and drunk well, they presented him with a bowl of water in which to wash. While he did, they took down the tepees and stored them on a hide sled, which they then attached to the saddle mount of one of the horses.

  Once Jak had completed his ablutions, the warrior with the bandanna spoke to him. “If you ride with me, I’ll explain something of what has happened while we journey to our ville.”

  Jak nodded. Climbing up behind the warrior, he found himself moving out into the middle of the line of riders. The horse with the sled took up position at the rear.

  They set off across the plain, the sun now high overhead, and the heat intensifying with every mile they traveled.

  After a while, the warrior with the bandanna spoke over his shoulder.

  “We knew you were coming. Some had arrived, and so it was certain that the others would be nearby. It was just a question of tracking you. The one who came upon us of his volition could say little. Too long out on the plain, exposed to the elements. But if we explored in the direction from which he came, then chances were that we would find you. As it happened, we were spared the need to search as you came upon us of your own accord. Truly, we should have known that this would happen. How else could the legends be realized?”

  Jak listened, but said nothing. So far, none of it really made much sense to him. This talk of legends was stupe, but if he waited long enough, he was sure that more would become clear.

  So they continued. It was near nightfall, the sun descending behind a far range of hills, casting long blue-hued shadows over the sun-scorched plain, before they came upon the area that the Native Americans called their ville. Riding into the shadows, as Jak’s eyes adjusted to the gloomier light, he became aware that a small ville of wigwams sat in the shelter of the hillside. The large structures, made of wood and brush woven together to form misshapen mushrooms of shelter, were clustered close to the face of the rock, the beginning of a fire flaring and casting a glow reflected back off the rock. In this improving light, Jak was now able to see that the ville numbered more than twenty wigwams. There was also the suggestion of an opening in the rock, through which he was now able to see another source of light. Dimmer, but steady. Not natural or fire light, but something else. Electricity? Within the confines of rock, this could mean only one thing.

  “Mebbe redoubt,” he breathed.

  The man in front of him glanced over his shoulder. They had ridden in silence for some time, and it was as much surprise at Jak’s voice, as it was at what he said, that prompted response.

  “So you will say something, then? Even if it makes no sense. ‘Re’-what? Never mind, Red-eyes, it’ll be talked of soon enough. Maybe the shaman can get some sense out of you.”

  Jak would be ready for anything. He would bide his time and try to find out as much as he could.

  As the new arrivals rode into the ville, they found themselves surrounded by men, women and children. Jak noted that while the men and boys wore their hair long, the women were the opposite. Unlike most communities, where there were no rules or conventions about this, it seemed that it was a tradition strictly observed. Grimly, he wondered how Krysty or Millie would fare in such a place.

  The warrior party halted and dismounted. The throng milled around them, and there were questions about where Jak had been found and what he had said. None of these were directed toward him, which he found amusing rather than irritating. It was as though the people were afraid to speak to him directly. He found himself being ushered through the crowd by the man he had ridden with, who brushed aside all of these queries with a few terse words. It was easy to see that Jak was considered of some importance. Mebbe, he thought, someone would soon tell him why.

  He found himself being led to the wigwam that was closest to the redoubt entrance. As they approached, he noticed the following things—the wigwam to which he was being taken was larger and more ornate in its weaving than any of the others in the ville. There was little doubt in his mind now that there was a redoubt hidden by the rocks, as the open entrance was unmistakable, down to the support pillars in the interior tunnel, and the entry pad and sec door mechanisms that were visible on their approach. And there was also little doubt that the other members of the Native American tribe were in deference to the inhabitant of the large wigwam, falling back as they did.

 
The warrior in the bandanna stopped in front of the entrance to the wigwam, indicating that Jak do likewise. He said something in his native language, and after a few moments two men emerged from the interior of the wigwam.

  Although he could not see, and did not look back, Jak could feel the people at his rear supplicate as the two men walked into the open. One was tall, barrel-chested, and was dressed similarly to the warriors who had brought Jak into the ville. He had an aquiline nose and hooded eyes, which were as cold as a snake’s as they regarded him. He was a man used to being obeyed without question. Where some men had decorative feathers and braiding in their hair, this imposing figure had enough to almost consider it a headdress. He also had scarring on his chest that suggested a number of ritualistic ordeals. Jak was familiar enough with stories of such Native American tribes to guess at such.

  By contrast, the figure at his side was, perhaps, more sinister than imposing. Shorter, and much thinner, he was a wiry figure whose frame was similar to Jak’s. But his skin was dark and his long hair jet-black. Or at least, it appeared to be so. There was little of it visible beneath the headdress that he wore. It was made from the skull of some animal—Jak couldn’t guess which—and was covered with furs, stitched from many creatures, and of differing hues that extended past his neck and shoulders. His clothing, too, was made of animal pelts that had been dried, but not cured in the same way as the leather and hide worn by the rest of the men. It was enough to set him apart and mark him as someone with a unique role in the tribe.

  This, Jak figured, had to be the shaman.

  The larger of the men held up his hand in greeting. “Welcome, Red-eyes. Can’t say you’re what we were expecting, but then, the same is true of the other half.”