“So what then, if we fail?”
Colonel Crenshaw let out a deep breath, staring into the night sky. “The first colony ships have almost certainly begun to arrive. They got some heavy backing from Plenika-Thropson Corporation from what I understand. That’s why we had to move so fast, all the usual bullshit goes by the wayside when a player like that is involved. Anyway, they should be here soon if they haven’t already come, and there are any of a number of Planetology expeditions. That means a lot of confusion. We can slip in, give them an alias, either live in the colony or try to make it back home.”
“But that’s no good for a hundred and some odd men walking out of the jungle in full combat armor.”
“That’s for sure, my friend.”
“So if the attack on the Capital goes bad, we should have a backup plan.”
“I’ve given it some thought."
“Sounds like it.”
Pointing, Crenshaw said, “There’s a pass about fifty clicks up that way that cuts through these mountains and puts you out on the plains beyond. If I haven’t gotten my directions mixed up, that’s where the Plenika-Thropson colonies were going to set up, on the far side of the river.”
“You think we can make it there, just the two of us?”
“We can take along one or two good men, people we can trust. I would have said Hayes should have been one, but we’ll have to find someone else now.”
“I have one or two in mind, if chance happens for them to be near when the shit hits the fan.”
“Good. If anything happens, we bug out and meet at the gap, take the route over the northern ridge.” Thinking about the problem for a moment, Crenshaw said, “Why don’t I make up an excuse for you to go scout the place out, maybe bring up some gear?”
Smitty said dubiously, “It’ll take time.”
Crenshaw motioned toward the fire, meaning all the men at their celebrations. “I’ll make the time. When these drunken fools wake up, I’ll let the others have a chance.”
“You got it.”
“One thing.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let Jones see a thing you do.”
Chapter 24
Feeling the world no longer weighed so heavily upon him for all the worries it contained, feeling young, Mabetu came to his feet. Bells were sewn onto the ceremonial garment he wore at the neck and shoulders, the elbows and wrists, down his chest and upon his knees and ankles. The gentle tinkling that followed each movement served as a reminder he had left that which he thought was real and had come into another sort of existence. He now walked among the spirits. He had passed into the next world.
Looking down, he saw his body still seated rigidly upon the stone floor, hardly seeming to have changed at all. He had lived a long life, longer than any man had a right to expect. His skin was wrinkled, thin and pale, mottled with dark spots like a forest lizard’s hide. His hair was as white as the mountain snows. Everything he looked upon marked him as a sort of freak or aberration, a thing that should not be. He had no right to demand so much of life when so many young ones suffered and died in his stead.
Across from his body sat Ummi Astoloah, a Kasisi from the hill country. He was beating rhythmic enchantments upon a drum, singing the song that had taken Mabetu from this world to the next.
Sweet herbs burned on the fire, filling the small chapel in Pakali’s home with tendrils of white smoke. The smoke filled the room, rising to the heavens like the silken threads of a thousand spiders.
The flickering light of the flames danced upon the walls, casting shadows against the paintings of holy men and women of the past. They were the old champions of truth, those who had made the offerings of their lives in sacrifice. The restless light gave the paintings life. Watching them, Mabetu half expected the pictures to move or speak, so real had they become.
But maybe he only felt that way because of the change that was being made in his own consciousness. The air around him was full of energy, and he was connected to it all--the people that had painted the pictures, the worshippers who had come here to pray, the generations of Pakali’s kin who had made this place their home, even the few insects buzzing in the air, and the mold that grew on the damp walls.
“Do not do this,” Ummi had said to him before the ceremony began, “it is dangerous. You do not know the peril you put yourself in.”
“But I’m old,” Mabetu protested. “What have I to fear?”
“You should fear for the loss of your immortal soul, to drift forever in the next world and never to come into the loving embrace of the Almighty.”
“But those who belong to Him are never lost. The Almighty will not forsake His own,” had been Mabetu’s arrogant reply. Stepping away from his mortal form Mabetu pondered the wisdom of his decision, how he had so quickly dismissed the concerns of a man who had far greater an understanding of these magiks than he.
Ummi Astoloah was not to be dissuaded so easily. He was as stubborn as Mabetu himself. “But why must it be you? I will go. I have done this before.”
“But not often.”
“No, it must not be often, cannot be. None of us has the strength or will for that. If the risk was not so great, maybe, then it could be done more often, but you wish to go so far and you have not the proper learning, and this is another reason I ask you not to do so now,” he had said, but Ummi’s feeble arguments had done nothing to dissuade Mabetu from his intentions.
“I have been given so many gifts in my life. I have watched the generations born, live, and die. I have been happy and so now I must do something to earn the gifts I have been given.” He added as justification, “Besides, how would you find Rakam? The dreams have not come to you. He is not of your flesh and has made no call to you.”
“But a Mulak? How will you fight that? If it is out there, in the haunted forest as you say, then what can you do to protect yourself? The blackness would be as happy to entrap you as your great-grandson. There are beasts in the darkness and unsettled spirits for both good and evil. Will you know which ones to trust?”
Mabetu had answered in his usual, superior way, “I have my faith as guide and salvation. Do not think I have passed these many years without picking up a trick or two. Besides, it is the only way for help to come to Rakam in time. If you will not help me, I will find someone who will.” But he had not replied to the threat of the Mulak, what he feared most, a danger he felt in the turning of his stomach, the source of his worst fears.
“The MaKasisi in the city temple?” Ummi had replied with disdain.
“If I must.”
That had been the end of the disagreement, but Ummi had exacted a price for his involvement. He had put Mabetu through a tedious number of mental exercises before they began, telling him repeatedly what to expect, what could and could not be done in the next world. He had talked of the dangers until Mabetu had lost patience and threatened to have the guards lock Ummi in chains while he found someone more cooperative and less inclined to jabber.
The old Kasisi now looked up at Mabetu, not at his mortal form, but seeing him as he truly was. Mabetu was suddenly struck by the idea that he was making a big mistake, but Ummi smiled at him and made a blessing, putting more herbs upon the fire and then returning to the beating of the drum. With a word of thanks, Mabetu left, knowing he must go quickly if he were to come to Rakam in time.
No door or gate barred entrance to the chapel. There was just a small archway to mark the transition from the central corridor that ran the length of Pakali’s house. Four guards stood there, heavily armed with iron tipped spears, placed by Pakali’s will for Mabetu’s protection while the ceremony lasted. The guards did not notice his passing, but as Mabetu swept his hand through the nearest, the guard shivered and looked furtively about for a few moments, but he did not raise the alarm.
Chuckling, Mabetu went on, down the corridor and into the armory, passing through several adjoining rooms until he found the place Pakali had spoken of, a trapdoor of stone secured wi
th heavy clasps and a locking device. Bells tinkling as he bent to the task, Mabetu found the strange device unfastened, left to look like it was secure, but unlocked in advance for the purpose of his escape.
Thinking it strange that ghost hands could find purchase upon the iron ring and pull the stone door open, Mabetu followed a winding stair that led deep into the rock. At the bottom of the stair there was a room. At the center lay the opening to the old cistern that once held the water supply for the household. A shaft for the overflow led out of the city. Pakali kept the shaft in a good repair and said often in jest that he intended to make use of it if ever he was in need of a hasty escape from his enemies on the Council.
Down the overflow shaft Mabetu went, bells tinkling softly as he crawled. He could feel the life in the stone. He could feel life in the water that had once coursed through this place. Fearing he would be overwhelmed by his new senses and go mad, he paused, centering himself as Ummi had taught him, and trying to ignore the countless voices that beckoned. The Kasisi of the hill country knew his business well. Using the chant, the voices quieted, and Mabetu was soon on his way again.
At the end of the tunnel was a stout door. It could be opened from either side, but the iron hinges and lock had become rusted from disuse. Try as he may, Mabetu found he did not have the strength to open it. Getting nowhere, he knew he had to find another way. Unable to come up with anything else, he thought he might be able to get the works to loosen up if he gave the door a few good kicks.
The shaft was cramped, but he was able to get himself turned around and soon began slamming his foot against his new found obstacle. With each failed kick he became angrier and angrier, his blows increasingly savage, giving the door what surely would have been a pounding if he had only been inside his body. His legs became fatigued from the repeated efforts then pained. The jarring in his back grew to be unbearable. At last he stopped, panting heavily, unable to pull back his legs to deliver even one more blow.
When he had caught his breath, Mabetu focused his mind, remembering what Ummi had said about the limitations of the body not mattering. He should not feel pain. He should not even be breathing. Those things were for the body, and he was no longer in his body. Knowing he should be doing better than he was did nothing to help the situation. The door held. His kicking became frantic once more.
As he thought of Rakam and how he had become so easily trapped, Mabetu gave in to his anger and shouted in rage and frustration. The door erupted. In a blast of sparks and light the wood splintered, shattering, as a startled Mabetu looked on in disbelief. When the dust settled, he saw the door was, indeed, gone. He was weary in mind and body, but the door no longer hindered him.
“I see you,” whispered a cold voice.
Fear made Mabetu go still. He had heard a voice, had felt the inky blackness of an evil consciousness reaching out for him. It was looking for him still, coming closer and closer, calling to him, irresistible, relentless. In defiance to the voice, Mabetu shut his mind, trying to keep himself from being exposed to the searching presence.
“I see you, and I will have you,” the voice said lovingly. “Come to me.”
The urge to follow the voice was terrible. Inside he longed to obey, wanted nothing more than to do what the voice commanded. Mabetu forgot everything about his mission, the need to save Rakam, the Shaitani threat his people faced. There was only the voice, the command, and the desire. “No,” he said, but the protest was weak.
The voice became more womanly, tempting and seductive, “Come to me, and yours will be the sweetest of rewards. All that you ever dreamed of I can give you.”
“No,” Mabetu shouted. Laughter was his reply. “No, I will not surrender to you.”
“You already have.”
Using the ancient tongue of his ancestors, the words given to them by the Almighty to use for His Glory, Mabetu began to pray, saying the sacred words over and over. Feeling the hold upon him lessen, he gained strength, continuing his prayer.
But his success was short lived. The voice returned, full of scorn. “Give up,” it said, “your prayers are a feeble defense. Your god does not listen. You are a fool to come here, and you will be punished for your insolence. Give up, and I will show you mercy.”
The jeers did more to strengthen Mabetu’s resolve than to weaken it. He had felt the change. The prayer had hurt the cursed thing that wished to possess him.
As Mabetu lost himself to the meditation, he thought he heard the faint beating of a drum. Focusing on the drum and its rhythm, he drew strength, pushing the intruding presence away. Invoking the true name of the Almighty, Mabetu commanded the thing to be gone. He was met with silence. He was safe.
* * *
Contemplating his mistakes, Mabetu arose from the overflow shaft into the night. The sky was clear and the sister moons were shining brightly, the smaller of the two nearly at the apex, coronal light seething at its edges.
He shivered. Though the air had grown cold, the reaction was more from the memory of the voice than from a need for warmth.
Finding his way through the flooded tracts between the city and the river, Mabetu came to the road that would take him all the way back to the sea. This time as he went along he chanted, making use of Ummi’s teachings. In so doing, he found he had no need to take breath, and he traveled at a greater pace than even the fastest man could go at a run. Soon the city was far behind him, and he came to the river ford.
Though flooded by the heavy rains, the churning water yielded to his passing, and he felt hardly a drag upon his legs from the racing current. The life within the waters had a stronger pull, but humbling himself and following Ummi’s teachings, he was able to put the calling voices of the fish and the beetles and the waterweed and the reaching roots of the trees on the riverbank to the back of his mind. He couldn’t ignore the alluring calls, but he could control his attraction to them.
On the opposite side of the river, Mabetu found himself dry and rested. The crossing filled him with vigor and the desire to press on. Falling into the rhythm of Ummi’s chants, the distance passed effortlessly. The villages went by in a blur.
As he traveled away from the Marsh City, a strange presence began growing in Mabetu’s mind, a gathering of many complex thoughts. These people were different in a way that went beyond anything Mabetu could rightly comprehend; and before he saw the first Shaintani, he had guessed he had found the enemy.
Wondering if they could see him and if they could do him harm, Mabetu approached the first MaShaitani with caution. It was a group of five, working the landscape in an erratic pattern, skulking between trees and rocks along the roadside. The MaShaitani were carefully scouting the land, but they could not hide from the old Kasisi. They glowed with a faint light, giving them an ethereal, almost angelic appearance.
Not knowing what he expected to happen and ready to flee, Mabetu showed himself to the last of the MaShaitani, careful to allow only a glimpse as he ducked behind a rock. The Shaitani failed to react even when Mabetu grew bold, waving his arms above his head. Satisfied, he stepped out from behind the rock, following the MaShaitani as he thought of what test he should conduct next.
It was said by the old men he had known in his youth that the Shaitani lands were heavily populated with the katabo. Making the hunting cry of the fierce beast, Mabetu waited for a reaction. Again his efforts were ignored. None of the MaShaitani so much as flinched. He was tempted to hit one of them with a stone, but thought better of the idea, and instead continued down the road.
What he saw next filled him with dread. The Shaitani army wasn’t camped out at some outlying village as he had secretly hoped, waiting until the Long Night was over to attack Pakali’s City. They were on the move, walking in neat rows, each one taking step in time with its neighbor, marching as if by one mind. Some pulled carts with tall wheels laden with food and gear, while others carried ladders long enough to span the great stone wall surrounding the city. Stunned, Mabetu could only watch as the army fi
led by.
Though he felt like a traitor to his people, Mabetu watched them continue along the river road. He knew he should warn Pakali, return to his physical form or try to send word through Ummi that the city was in danger, but he could not. Time was growing short. He feared if he returned now he would never reach Rakam before the dangers consumed him.
Trusting to the vigilance of the city guard, Mabetu decided to do as he had planned. He would help Rakam and hope for the best. By what he saw, it might be just as well if they were taken by surprise, so the suffering of many would be lessened.
A Shaitani clad in black appeared amongst a crowd of others at the rear. Mabetu could tell by how they clustered about him that the black Shaitani was their leader. There was one in red and another in stripes, both MaShaitani of some rank if their warriors acted in some way like those of his people toward their betters.
As the others walked in silence, these three made conversation. Mabetu could not understand their speech, nor could he make any sense of what little he saw in their minds.
Thinking he could perhaps learn something of their plans, Mabetu put himself in the path of the Shaitani in black. Reaching out his hand, they touched. The feeling was like starlight in the heavens. In a moment of contact, Mabetu saw another world, a place filled with colors and sounds and smells that were utterly alien. Buildings as tall as the clouds shined in the light of day. Strange looking creatures traveled through the air in bizarre carts, riding into the utter blackness of the night sky. He saw the faces of a people he had never seen before, animals of no known kind or breed.
Mabetu looked deeper into the black Shaintani’s mind, trying to find the purpose behind this war against his people. He saw a meal being shared with a Shaitani woman at the top of a very tall house. She had dark hair and such beautiful blue eyes. Mabetu felt this woman had once been important to the Shaitani Chief. There was a ring, a circle of gold that held a pledge of marriage, but that too was lost.
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