The Trespass

by Scott Hunter

  “It is so.” Mukannishum’s eyes were black marbles in their deep, hooded sockets.

  Dracup wondered how far he could push Mukannishum – too far and he could seal his fate immediately; not far enough and he might lose the only chance he had. He gestured towards the object on the altar. “Well, I have a question for you, then: if it’s so sacred to your people, why have you abandoned it here for so long?”

  Mukannishum moved towards him with a lithe, darting motion. Dracup stood his ground. The zealot’s face was centimetres away, the whites of his eyes webbed with tiny rivulets of blood. A thread of spittle clung to the thin lips. “This is not something I would normally share with a godless Westerner, but as your life is at an end I will show you leniency and explain.” Mukannishum took a step back, his long body again performing that strange unfolding motion as he drew himself up to his full height. “It is written that in the fullness of time, the sceptre shall be made whole again and reunited with the one to whom it was given at the beginning.”

  Dracup was listening. He was also looking for an escape route, but the encircling priests seemed to sense his intentions. They closed in, tightening the circle. He had to keep Mukannishum talking. “And that time is now?”

  Mukannishum smiled, a cynical movement of his lips. “Yes. Our prophet has decreed it to be so.”

  Dracup’s brain was racing. “And apart from my grandfather’s diary this is the only means by which your people can be traced, correct?”

  “Correct.” Mukannishum opened his robe and slid out a small book. “And I have both Omega and the diary in my possession.”

  Dracup could sense Mukannishum’s patience slipping away. But if he was going to die he wanted to die with answers. “Why my daughter?”

  Mukannishum straightened to his full height. “She is not my responsibility,” he said dismissively. “The prophet will decide her fate.”

  “Then take me to him. At least I deserve a hearing.”

  Mukannishum threw back his head and laughed. “He is a thousand miles from you – in distance and in spirit.” Watching Dracup carefully, he added, “The girl is useful to him,” he added a final phrase that chilled Dracup’s heart, “in his service.”

  Dracup grappled with his conflicting emotions. The words confirmed that she lived. But a thousand miles away? He felt despair seep through his body like a sedative and dug his fingernails into his palms, forcing himself to think. Keep talking, Dracup. Keep him talking. “The Americans have Alpha. They may still be able to trace you.”

  “I doubt that,” Mukannishum leered. “I have already made provision to acquire your recently unearthed discovery. US intelligence has already proved itself less than competent. Alpha will be in my hands very soon. As is its sibling.” Mukannishum turned to the altar and unfixed the half-cross from its plinth. Laying it down carefully he produced a soft cloth from his bag and began folding the material this way and that across the object as if to protect it in transit. The priests, silent up to this point, began to murmur amongst themselves. Dracup eyed them with caution. Was this unexpected? They appeared surprised at Mukannishum’s actions. One stepped forward and grasped his arm, said something in the strange language Dracup had heard earlier that day. The gesture was unmistakable. It is not permitted.

  Mukannishum whipped his arm from the point of contact. “Do not touch me,” he hissed in English. “Kadesh himself has decreed that the sign be returned to the Korumak.”

  Two names. Kadesh. Korumak. Dracup stored the information and waited to see what would happen next. He realized that, to these priests, Mukannishum was as much an outsider as he was. An important one, maybe, but not one of them. They were suspicious and their suspicions had evidently been confirmed. Mukannishum glared at the men and resumed his task.

  What happened next surprised Dracup as much as it surprised Mukannishum. One of the priests produced a long blade from beneath his garment and swept it across Mukannishum’s legs, disabling him in one stroke. The giant fell to the floor with a look of amazed horror on his face. Blood leapt from the wounds and spattered the onlookers in a rush of gore. Dracup heard Bek give a shout of revulsion and stepped back involuntarily, expecting the priest to turn on him as well. But the man with the sword had his attention firmly fixed on Mukannishum, who was lying on his back attempting to sit up. A pool of blood was forming around the stricken man’s body.

  Dracup looked from the priest back to Mukannishum, profoundly shocked. Mukannishum was ranting at his assailant. The priest barked a reply and Mukannishum twisted his mouth into a snarl. A sliver of metal appeared in his hand and the wrist twisted to flick the knife at its target, but the priest was quicker: stepping forward he pinned Mukannishum’s arm to the floor and kicked the knife away disdainfully. The other priests, silent up to this point, began chanting rhythmically, their voices echoing round the building like monks at plainsong. Dracup edged back another metre and found Bek squatting miserably behind him. “What are they saying, Bek? What’s happened?”

  Bek clung to Dracup’s leg. “They fall out with the long man, boss. He want to take the cross away. They say no, it belongs here. They will not allow him to have it. Long man says they are wrong – he is faithful to the Korumak Tanri, to Kadesh. And so should they be. But boss –” Bek grasped Dracup’s arm, “– they think you want the same – they –”

  A priest appeared at Dracup’s side and struck Bek across the face. The boy reeled away into the darkness. Dracup’s hands were bound and he was pushed forward. Mukannishum groaned as he was lifted and carried to a low door recessed in the rock immediately behind the altar. Dracup was prompted to follow, and ducked to clear the rough ceiling of the passageway. Hands pushed at his back and shoulders so that he almost stumbled and fell several times as he attempted to negotiate the steep and uneven route chosen for them by the priests. Priests? What sort of priests carry scimitars under their vestments?

  He wondered what had happened to Bek, but couldn’t turn to look in case he did himself an injury on the ceiling or the irregular path. He could hear Mukannishum shouting somewhere up ahead – whether in fear or pain he couldn’t say – and felt his breath hot in his chest as the pace increased. They evidently wanted him somewhere in a hurry. Presently he felt cooler air on his face and was able to straighten his back. He looked up. The passageway was open to the stars, and with the light given by these and a full moon Dracup was at least able to walk without fear of falling. The priests resumed their plaintive hymns as they walked, a spiritual, mournful refrain with a slow, deliberate tempo. The cadences of the melody boded ill for his future. Dracup looked around in desperation but there was nothing to see, just the shadow of the mountain, the silhouettes of his escort and Mukannishum’s arachnid body writhing in protest somewhere up ahead.

  The song finished abruptly and he was forced to a halt by a firm grip on his arm and the back of his neck. The escort fanned out in a semicircle; Mukannishum was unceremoniously dumped on the ground like so much unwanted baggage. He screamed as his mutilated legs made contact with the earth. Dracup winced and quashed the instinctive response to help. There was nothing he could do. Two priests grabbed hold of Mukannishum’s legs, an action that drew an unearthly, high-pitched shriek from the prostrate man’s lips, but the cry was cut short as his arms were held and he was swung like a pendulum, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. Perplexed, Dracup wondered what they were doing. Then he looked down and realized they were standing on the edge of a pit; he could see its sandy coloured floor clearly in the moonlight. A few scattered rocks broke the even surface, along with a smattering of dark, scrubby grass and a squat, grey tree trunk fixed in the centre.

  Dracup watched impotently as Mukannishum was released into the air and fell helplessly, arms and legs cartwheeling in protest, into the void. He hit the ground with a muffled groan and lay still. Then the nearest priest turned to Dracup. He tensed his muscles but knew it was a hopeless resistance; quickly overpowered by lean, black arms he was cast afte
r Mukannishum like a puppet. Dracup tried to relax and roll, but mistimed it and hit the ground hard. The impact drove the breath from his body in a lung-emptying whoosh of air. His head followed his body, and gravity did the rest. The world uncoiled through a reverse telescope and the final pinprick of light went out like a snuffed candle.

  There was dirt in his mouth. Dracup coughed and spat. He moved his head gingerly. His neck worked – that was good. He pushed himself up on one arm and tried to sit up. He fell back at the stabbing pain in his lower chest. That hurt a lot, and so did his back, but he could move his legs and feet so it was probably just bruising – plus maybe a cracked rib or two. He tried again a minute or so later, and eventually heaved himself into a sitting position. Above him the moon shone in the empty sky, empty but for the millions of stars stretched across the void.

  It was very quiet. He scanned from right to left around the perimeter of the pit. No inquisitive faces peered down at him. No sonorous chanting broke the stillness. The priests had left him for the time being. They must be pretty confident I can’t get out. Dracup supported his ribcage carefully with one arm and attempted to get to his feet. He made it on the third try and shuffled across to the wall of the pit. It was sheer. And crumbling. There was a small, stepped projection just out of reach. He stretched for it and cried out in pain. Even if it held his weight he didn’t have a hope of reaching it. He placed his back against the pit wall and eased himself slowly onto the sandy floor. He was very thirsty – another problem he didn’t want to dwell on. First, get out, then –

  A soft moan startled him. Mukannishum. He had completely forgotten him. Dracup was horrified that the man had just been left to bleed to death. He flexed his muscles to get up when another sound rolled across the walls of the pit. His blood froze and he flattened himself against the uneven tuff, all thoughts of movement abandoned. Moments later a large shadow detached itself from the base of the tree and moved languidly towards Mukannishum’s prostrate form. Dracup watched in impotent horror. Now he understood the priests’ careless departure. The shadow gained substance as it stopped to sniff the air for signs of danger. It was an enormous animal, bigger than the Indian lions he had known as a child. This was a Barbary lion – black-maned, rare. A protected species. Dracup’s bladder tightened with an uncomfortable pressure. He wasn’t sure if the animal had missed him or if its curiosity was aroused to a greater degree by the bleeding form of Mukannishum. Dracup bit his lip. He watched the lion nuzzle Mukannishum half-heartedly and then move away to the other side of the pit where it began a ritual cleaning of paws and mane. Dracup let out his breath slowly. It’s not hungry – yet. Dracup turned his attention back to the pit wall. He looked for a tool he could use to chisel out a foothold, but the pit floor was bare except for a scattering of dead branches and the odd fragment of tuff.

  Mukannishum was moaning again, trying to move. Dracup wanted to warn him to keep still, but any signal he made was as likely to attract the lion’s attention. It had ceased grooming and was staring fixedly at Mukannishum. The animal’s paw was raised in mid-air, its posture reminiscent of a domestic cat. Dracup willed the injured man into stillness. With a softer groan, Mukannishum’s head sank back onto the sand. Dracup hoped he had fainted. The lion remained in its fixed position for a long thirty seconds, then resumed its ablutions, lapping its great tongue across tawny, powerful paws.

  Dracup waited. A faint iridescence was creeping over the night sky and the stars were becoming less distinct. Soon, pale beams of orange light began to pick their way into Dracup’s prison, deepening the colour of the pit walls from brownish-red to deep crimson. He worried less about the visual exposure daylight would bring and more about the problem of water – or the lack of it. The heat of the day would be fearsome in his exposed position. He had lost his hat somewhere along the way and had nothing to protect himself except the shirt he was wearing. About the lion he worried the least. It would have attacked by now if hunger had been a priority, and he guessed it would sleep for most of the day until the cool of the evening and an empty stomach prompted it into action.

  The increased visibility had revealed more about the nature of the pit. It was a man-made affair, he was sure of that. The circumference was too regular in shape to be natural. The tree had been provided for shade and claw sharpening. However, it was not the only source of shade. Beyond Mukannishum’s body a shadowy opening broke the even tint of the pit wall. It looked like a tunnel entrance. On the other hand, maybe it was just a cool enclave provided for the lion’s comfort with no connection to upper levels. Dracup made saliva and moistened his lips sparingly. If the lion chose to settle by the tree he might get the chance to find out. The sun’s reddish-yellow disk appeared above the artificial horizon of the pit’s perimeter and he felt its warm promise on his face. The seriousness of his position clarified his thinking and he made a quick decision. Before Mukannishum died, as he surely would, he had to capitalize on his unexpected opportunity to interrogate someone with a direct link to Natasha. Movement had its risks, but then so did continued ignorance. Keeping a close eye on the lion, Dracup began to inch his way around the pit, ignoring the aches and stabs of protest from his body.

  Dracup estimated that around an hour had passed by the time he had reached the closest possible point to the prostrate man. He leaned against the wall and took stock. His biggest fear was that Mukannishum was already dead. The lion had spread itself into what Dracup hoped would be a long term posture – front legs at full stretch, rear legs tucked, the great head bowed over its paws. He spent a few moments in reflection. If I die, God, then so be it. But let my little one live. Let her come home to her mother and strengthen her to face the future. Give her a fond memory of me. Let her understand, when she is old enough, that we both love her, whatever happened between us.

  The lion stirred and made a low noise in its throat. The tail flicked once and was still. Dracup held his breath. Amen. He lay forward in the dirt and began to inch his way towards Mukannishum. He rested on his good side to ease the pressure, then continued a metre at a time. He tried to make his movements economical, but the temperature was rising and soon bubbles of perspiration began to collect on his forehead and trickle down the bridge of his nose. Dracup stopped for a breather. Just a couple of metres and he would be there. Mukannishum twitched and the lion’s tail moved minutely in response, but the animal was lethargic, indifferent to the prospect of another meal at this early hour. Dracup pulled himself forward and flopped down parallel to Mukannishum’s fevered head.

  He was in a bad way. Dracup could see the deep gashes in both legs, the torn fabric of his trousers woven into the fleshy lacerations. Flies busied themselves around the congealing blood. Dracup swatted them away but they were persistent and he soon gave up, allowing the insects to settle on his face wherever they chose; too much flapping around would only attract the lion. Dracup prayed that Mukannishum was too weak to make a loud, attention-attracting response, and pulled gently on the man’s shoulder.

  “Listen to me,” he told him. “I can get you out of this, but you have to do exactly what I tell you.” Mukannishum moaned and opened his eyes. Dracup put his face close to his. “We are in a pit. There is a lion, but it is sleeping. Do you understand?”

  Mukannishum moved his head fractionally. His eyes showed that he had registered the danger.

  “There may be an exit tunnel. I’m going to check it out later. Keep still and stay as quiet as possible.”

  Mukannishum tried to shift position and his face creased in pain. The man’s injuries were significant: both legs fractured and one arm splayed uselessly. Dracup ripped off a strip of his shirttail and fashioned a tourniquet. First aid was not his forte, but he had to try to stop Mukannishum bleeding to death. He wrapped the material around Mukannishum’s thigh and tightened it into a knot, speaking quickly as he worked to keep Mukannishum’s attention.

  “Before I check it,” Dracup told him, “we’re going to have a little chat. Let’s start with
an easy one. Who is ‘Kadesh’ and where can I find him?” He waited for a reaction. Mukannishum’s skin was a yellowish colour and his breathing was becoming laboured. He shook the man’s arm firmly. “If you want to have any chance of getting out of here you’d better start talking.”

  Mukannishum turned his head fractionally. The eyes slid open. “Kadesh is the prophet, leader and encourager, blessed be his name.”

  “The leader of the Korumak?”

  But Mukannishum only grimaced and his head fell back. The flies buzzed around them with renewed vigour. Dracup kept one eye on the lion as he waited for a response. The animal was sound asleep, its chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. There was time; there had to be time. Dracup reached into Mukannishum’s robe and found the diary in a zipped pocket. He slipped it beneath his waistband. That was one problem dealt with.

  “Where are the Korumak?” he repeated, giving Mukannishum’s cheek a firm slap.

  Mukannishum opened his mouth and groaned. “Water.”

  “There isn’t any. Not until we get out of here.”

  Mukannishum closed his eyes. Dracup was about to rouse him again when he began to speak softly, in English and in another, unfamiliar tongue. Dracup recognized the onset of delirium. He repeated his question. “The Korumak. Your people. Where are they?”

  “Korumak Tanri – God’s chosen. Blessed keepers of His law. Blessed protectors of His truth. Blessed children of Noah.”

  “Yes,” Dracup cajoled. “Pure descendants of his line –”

  Mukannishum muttered and writhed, slipping in and out of consciousness. Dracup shook him hard. “But where? Where is the girl?”

  Mukannishum shouted in pain and Dracup froze. He clapped a hand over Mukannishum’s mouth. A tense moment passed as the lion grunted and yawned but remained in its chosen location by the tree.