Shield (Bridge & Sword: Awakenings #2): Bridge & Sword World

by JC Andrijeski

  He spilled some of the meat sauce on the rocks and pressed his foot in it, squishing the sauce between his toes. Frowning, he stopped, rubbing his foot deeper into the loose dirt. Four couldn’t help but marvel that the boy still retained his revulsion reflex, considering how he’d been living.

  He bowed politely.

  “Boom, yes,” he said. “We understand one another, friend. No wires. Of course not. It was merely a passing thought.”

  The boy gave him a sharp look, and Terian realized he’d reverted to talking to him as though he were a much younger child. He would need to be careful if he wanted to avoid offense. Adolescent seers were prone to hyper-sensitivity when it came to being treated with respect.

  Somehow that struck him as darkly funny, too.

  The boy turned back to the bag.

  He dug his hand into the metallic wrapping, bringing another fistful of meat and noodles to his lips and sucking the juice greedily off his knuckles. Terian’s eyes fell to the boy’s narrow ribcage, the bones poking through the skin of his small chest. He would clean him up first. Make sure he knew food was no longer a luxury. Nor a bed, blankets, clothing, electronics, a roof, baths, cars, servants. Hell, he’d get the kid a pony if he wanted one.

  He might wait until he’d fattened him up a bit, though, so the kid didn’t eat it.

  The boy laughed, throwing a handful of the stroganoff in Terian’s direction.

  Terian sidestepped it neatly, keeping the smile on his face.

  If there was one area he excelled in, it was in providing material comfort. He’d make sure the kid had all the comfort he could ever hope for, more than he’d dreamed of in that foul-smelling cave. Then they would talk.

  The boy laughed again, dripping more meat juice onto his lips and into his mouth. His eyes narrowed at Terian, and the intelligence shone there again.

  “Talk. Yes.” He grinned, his teeth shockingly white under all the dirt and now juice running down his face, neck and fingers. “I like you, Sark. You get me things, and we talk.”

  He flung the remains of the bag at Terian. That time, he managed to hit him, splattering his coat and pants with brown sauce.

  Terian merely bowed as the young seer laughed again. He smiled politely.

  “Of course, my dear friend. Whatever pleases you.”

  Still, in looking at the gleam in those fire-blackened eyes, he found himself glad, not the first time, that he still had a few bodies to spare.

  “Bye-bye, Terry,” the boy said. The smile remained on his face, but the black eyes once more turned sharp, hawk-like. “Bye-bye.”

  Four smiled stiffly, trying not to react to the familiarity he heard in that voice.

  Or the fact that it suddenly sounded much older, and less randomly crazy.

  Bowing lower still, he removed himself from the boy’s presence and into the adjoining opening in the cave, where the sherpas crouched in a corner, muttering amongst themselves and avoiding his eyes.

  Terian squatted against the rock wall, and began wiping his trousers with a damp rag. Smearing and rubbing off the worst of the juice, he resigned himself to the fact that he’d likely attract mountain cats for days.

  Pouring water on the same rag and then his pants, he cleaned his hands thoroughly before extracting the leather-bound diary from the inside pocket of his coat. Three sent the original to Four in Beijing for safekeeping, not knowing Four would end up in the middle of a shooting war within a week, and with the book on his person.

  If he had to do it again, he would have brought a copy.

  Settling his weight in a flat spot by the cave wall, Four flipped it open.

  There had to be a key in here, somewhere. Some clue to getting the creature to cooperate. Something the boy cared about.

  Between the two Terians, they (or he) had read the damned book cover to cover five times, though. If the formula for enticing sanity from the child was written in code behind Revi’s neat print, it eluded him.

  No, the answers for that wouldn’t likely come from Revi’.

  Dehgoies had been the cage builder, the one who figured out how to keep the boy hidden. The real answers would have resided with Galaith. Galaith would have researched the boy incessantly. He would have studied his every move, for years on end, looking for a way in, searching for every potential access point.

  Ultimately, Galaith hadn’t succeeded in time, but he would have been in process with this, somehow.

  Unfortunately, Terian found nothing in any of Galaith’s records even referencing the boy. Nothing in the organic-based computer library. Nothing in the originals he’d appropriated before Alyson could find them, or the Barrier fragments he’d managed to track following the Pyramid’s demise.

  Which meant if anything still existed, it remained lost.

  Or Alyson had it.

  In any case, the boy’s presence explained a few things––notably why Galaith had been so ridiculously cautious in approaching Alyson while there was still some chance Dehgoies might kill her. Galaith couldn’t possibly have intended to pass up a breeding attempt on two full-blooded Elaerian. Whatever the boy’s age, given the odds of ever coming across a biological pair again, it was inconceivable that he wouldn’t have considered it.

  It occurred to Terian, of course, that whatever sanity once existed in the boy had long ago ceased to be. It wasn’t like Galaith or Revi’ to waste resources; if they’d resorted to chaining a seer of that talent in an underground dungeon like a rabid dog, it was likely because they’d exhausted every other means of securing his cooperation.

  Sighing, Terian tucked the book back into his jacket.

  All of his answers only seemed to breed more questions.

  Where had they found the wretched creature? How had they managed to keep his existence a secret all this time, with nothing but a doddering human and a dimwitted nun to guard him? How was it the boy didn’t appear to have aged?

  Terian asked the Barrier, hoping faintly for some kind of inspiration.

  None came.

  A SOUND ROUSED Four from sleep.

  Eyes open, he stiffened, looking around. Something was wrong.

  The first thing he noticed was the quiet.

  He lay by the embers of a dying fire; the only sounds came from outside the cave, along with the occasional soft pop from the red coals. He clutched at the gun he’d placed carefully under the sheepskin jacket he’d been using as a pillow, realizing he didn’t hear any breathing besides his own.

  The two sherpas no longer slept across the fire from him.

  His first thought was that they’d skulked out, leaving in the middle of the night to escape him and the boy. Yet all of their bedding and packs mysteriously remained.

  The second thing he noticed was that the boy stood over him, completely naked.

  Four swore in Chinese, flipping reflexively to his back. He raised the gun, pointing it at the boy’s face, feeling his heart leap to his throat.

  The boy only stood there, unsmiling.

  Glancing around the cave, Terian realized he recognized the coppery smell in his mouth. His eyes drifted down to the boy’s small hands and arms.

  They were no longer white, but red to the elbows. The deep scarlet liquid steaming on his skin contrasted sharply with his extreme pallor.

  Four lowered the gun slowly. When the boy continued to look at him, he shoved the weapon back under the sheepskin jacket, but within easy reach.

  “The humans?” Terian asked him.

  The boy gestured fluidly.

  Terian nodded, keeping his voice level. “But why? They were our guides.”

  I didn’t want them here.

  “But we needed them,” Terian said. “It is fine to kill, but you do not kill what you need alive. Do you understand?”

  “We do not need them,” the boy said in Hindi.

  “We do. To get through the mountains.” Seeing indifference on the boy’s face, he explained, This part of me… it is only a merchant. I do not know these lands. Th
is will be harder for us now. It will be harder for me to protect you.

  The boy said. I don’t need you to protect me. I can protect us!

  Terian didn’t miss the “we” or the “us.” He watched the boy’s face cautiously.

  The kid showed no signs of moving away.

  “It’s fine,” Terian said, conceding, You are very good at protecting us, yes. He looked at the boy’s hanging arms. “Please go wash yourself.” He glanced out the cave door, towards the steady sound he heard in the dark beyond the opening. “In the creek. Go wash your arms. And chest,” he added, gesturing at the boy’s bare body. “You shouldn’t sleep like that.”

  He paused, looking around the dim cave.

  “Where are the bodies?”

  The boy pointed by the door.

  Terian squinted in the firelight and shadows, just making them out. “Do you need my help, putting them outside?”

  The boy jerked a finger sideways in “no.”

  “All right.” Terian lay back on the pallet. “Go, then. Come back when you’re done.”

  The boy walked obediently to the door of the cave.

  Terian watched after him, sighing at the apparent success of his little experiment, and wondering at his own nerve in ordering the little butcher around.

  A few minutes later, Terian heard the scuffle and breathing associated with dragging a body out the door.

  Not a very long time after that, the boy returned.

  His pale arms were white once more, nearly shining in the firelight. His hair and eyelashes dripped with water. Terian hoped he’d put the bodies out far enough, so they wouldn’t stink up the confined space before morning, but he didn’t intend to go out there and check. Relaxing into the skins, he studied the round face, wondering what now.

  He still wasn’t wholly convinced he wasn’t next.

  As he thought it, Terian got a flicker of feeling and intent off the boy, enough to garner his motives. The revelation bewildered him.

  He studied the dark eyes, looking for confirmation.

  Finding it, he hesitated only another few heartbeats, then grabbed hold of the skins half-wrapped around his body. He flipped them back. Smiling, he patted the pallet below.

  “Come, then,” he said, oddly touched. He motioned him closer with his hand. “It’s all right. You can come. I don’t mind.”

  The boy knelt down by the fire, then turned his back, curling up in the hollow of Terian’s body. Four wrapped the skins around both of him, and held the boy carefully, resting his head on the sheepskin jacket. Even through the blankets and skins, he was amazed at the thinness of the small body, the pointed protuberances he felt at odd intervals against his chest.

  “What should I call you?” Terian said in Mandarin.

  The boy shivered, burrowing closer to Terian’s chest.

  His hands curled together in front of him. For a moment, Terian didn’t think he would answer.

  “Nenzi,” he said then, in the same language. “My name is Nenzi.”

  Four watched the boy’s lips move in a silent prayer as his eyes closed, just before he relaxed into his body’s warmth.

  So he was religious then. That was good information to have.

  It was also a little frightening, given what he’d just done.

  He looked like an overgrown puppy, nothing like the creature Terian had witnessed at the school in Sikkim, or the one he’d seen eating a few hours earlier, who had called him by name, a vague cruelty behind his eyes.

  Reaching up carefully, Terian stroked the boy’s hair back from his face.

  He would need to talk to Three about this.

  The boy tensed at his first touch, then merged his light into Four’s when he didn’t stop petting him. He laid his dark head on Terian’s lower arm.

  Feeling the boy’s breaths grow slower and more regular against his chest, smelling the sherpas’ blood and the remains of stroganoff in the damp hair, he smiled a little when he heard a soft snore, and continued stroking the small head.

  15

  WELLINGTON

  DIRECTOR OF U.S. Homeland Security Gregory Palmer stared around at the room’s other twelve occupants, fighting to keep his temper in check.

  “So,” he said. “Explain this to me again. Pretend I’m an idiot. Pretend I’m a reporter from FeedNeedTV.” He waited for the chuckles to subside. “We’re ‘taking a break’ from the war?” Despite his attempts to sound humorous, his words carried an edge. “What the hell does that even mean?”

  The Secretary of State gave a snort of restrained laughter.

  “Is this some code for negotiations?” Palmer said. “Or––”

  “No.” A different voice rose from a print couch.

  There, a woman with a hard, dried face sat in near-perfect stillness, wearing justice’s robes. Her thick white hair fit her head like a helmet. Her voice turned acidic, somehow making her appear even more reptilian.

  “Did you neglect to read the brief?” she said in her gruff voice. “It’s nothing like that, Palmer. This isn’t about China at all.”

  The rest of the Cabinet stood and sat in various postures around the Oval Office, not speaking, or even looking at Palmer or the old woman directly.

  No one ever wanted to tackle that old broad, he’d noticed.

  He took a long drink from the bourbon on ice he clutched in his ex-athlete’s hands, eyes once more darting around the beige-colored room. He wanted someone to argue with besides the old woman, but no one else would meet his gaze.

  The reptile tilted her head, bird-like.

  Palmer guessed he was the insect.

  “Is Wellington serious about this?” he said. “Are we really putting the entire operation on hold? For a handful of dead Sark brats?”

  Something cold darkened the old woman’s eyes.

  A younger woman in a fitted navy suit folded her arms, watching the Justice hesitantly, as if trying to decide whether to speak. Palmer wished she would––and wondered again what the old fossil was even doing there. Since when had the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court sat in on military decisions?

  And why was Jarvesch, the damned Secretary of Defense, catering to her? Jarvesch, woman or not, was usually a bigger hawk than any of them.

  She never held back when Wellington was in the room.

  Yet here she was, looking at that old broad like a kid approaching a playground monitor at school, needing to go to the bathroom.

  “Where is Wellington?” Palmer barked. “If he’s going to sell us this piece of crap plan, I want to hear it from him.”

  “Calm down, Greg,” Jarvesch, began, but Palmer had been waiting for someone to argue with him. Someone else, that is.

  He turned on the brunette in the navy suit.

  “Does he think he’ll actually win popularity points with a move like this?” he said, setting his drained glass on a tray with a loud clink. “In case he hadn’t noticed, no one’s all that crazy about Sarks these days. Not after they exploded that damned ship, killing a couple thousand of our people. This is going to look weak––if not downright traitorous after the fiasco with Caine. We have to distance ourselves from that mess, now more than ever!”

  “These are children, Palmer,” the Chief Justice said quietly. “Innocents. And there are complications––”

  “What about you, Jarvesch?” Palmer said, turning his back on the fossil on the couch. “Do you think it’s ‘complicated’ too? Or do you have your nose so far up Wellington’s ass that you’ve forgotten to use your military sense? Fucking women in charge, I swear. As if we don’t have enough fits of undue emotionality around here.”

  Jarvesch’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Palmer!” Chief of Staff Rogers rose to his feet. “That’s the Secretary of Defense!”

  “Yeah,” Palmer snorted. “We all know your interest in this, Earl.”

  Rogers’ face turned dark red, but Jarvesch waved him off, unperturbed.

  “It’s two days, Greg,” she told Palm
er. “And it makes sense, whether you like it or not. We need Europe’s support if we’re serious about China. They’re a lot bigger on seer rights than we are.” Frowning, she added, “You’re absolutely right. We need the credibility after Caine went off the deep end. But we don’t only need it at home.”

  She cocked her head at the shorter man, straightening her suit jacket before raising an eyebrow.

  “Besides, from my perspective, Greg, you’re the only one here who appears to be suffering from a fit of ‘undue emotionality.’ Would you like a Xanex? I’m sure we can have one of the porters fetch one for you.”

  The Secretary of State suppressed another tense giggle.

  Palmer ignored it.

  “Really? Does it make sense to you, Andrea?” he said. “Because from where I stand, he would have done better to work the terrorist attacks into the justification. If he really wanted European support, he could have claimed the damned Chinese destroyed their own stock. To prevent us from getting it alive.”

  His face reddened in anger at Jarvesch’s smile.

  “Hell, it’s probably true! We still have no idea who killed them… much less why!”

  Jarvesch rolled her eyes. “Inter-seer rivalries don’t interest us, Greg. We need to marginalize the fringe element. It’s the trade we’re after, and the illegal seer tech we know is still going on in Asia. You know all of this. You agreed with our strategy at the start.”

  “Our strategy?”

  “Wellington’s,” she said impatiently. “We all agreed. Because it made sense. He has to be the rational one here. What might have been seen as ‘impulsive’ or ‘manly’ before Caine will only make them wonder if Wellington’s unhinged, too. We need to maintain the moral high ground… now more than ever.”

  When he shook his head, she raised her voice slightly.

  “…Which means we do not fucking ignore the butchering of children, no matter what race they are. We do the right thing when atrocities happen, Greg. At least in front of the public.”

  Her voice rose louder when he scowled at her.