The Rift Walker

by Clay Griffith

  “No!” She tried to rise, but the air rippled around her with unbridled white heat. It flashed a brilliant hue and then surged outward in every direction, racing along the ground like a lit fuse.

  Gareth tried to run, but felt a wave of fire wash over him and heard the distant cry of his name.

  He felt nothing more.

  THE DESERT HEAT blazed across the men on the deck of USS Ranger. Senator Clark's collar chafed against his sweating skin and he tugged it loose, but it didn't relieve his irritation. They had been sitting in the desert for two days now, doing absolutely nothing. He had just spent weeks trapped in Alexandria. His men were restless and miserable from the days in the extreme heat. Sails had been rigged for shade from the brutal sun, and the crew had to fight to keep the ship moored in the face of sudden desert winds.

  Clark's bloodshot eyes strayed into the distance off to starboard, where Stoddard watched over the schoolteacher. The senator failed to see how crouching in the middle of a sea of sand, surrounded by strange ruins, would give them a lead to the whereabouts of his wife. He snorted. What a fool! And what a fool he was for listening to the crazy schoolteacher.

  Clark stomped down the gangplank and made for the ruins. His boots hissed as they sank into the soft sands. Soon he was among the tall, spindly rock columns. It wasn't the ruins of a city or a temple, as far as he could tell. Nabta Playa, Mamoru had called it. The place was just a circle of weird stones in the middle of the empty desert. Yet there was a sense about it that unnerved him.

  “Major!” Clark called out gruffly.

  His adjutant appeared from behind a stone pillar, signaling for silence, which only aggravated the senator more. He huffed his way over as Stoddard approached.

  “Well?” the senator asked.

  Stoddard saluted and then shook his head. “Nothing yet, sir.”

  “Then what the hell are we staying here for? This is damned nonsense. That priest has gone crazy. We can get some intelligence elsewhere. Someone must have seen her and that masked popinjay she ran off with.”

  “Mamoru is confident in his method.”

  “His method is getting us nothing but sunstroke.”

  “I recommend sticking with it. I've seen some strange things out in the desert. When Colonel Anhalt and I fought—”

  “Don't let these people buffalo you, Major. Their hocus-pocus is crap. Mamoru is waiting for a contact of some kind and playing at swami while he does it. He must be having a good laugh at our expense.” Clark lifted his hat and wiped his brow. “Who would meet him out here in the middle of hell?”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but I think it's more than that.”

  “I knew I shouldn't have let you run around with that Gurkha. He's filled your brain with useless foolishness. How did the Equatorians even build an empire with all these fanatics at the top?”

  “Any new tactic is worth looking into. Methods may differ, but some are no less effective.”

  Clark tried to spit, but couldn't. “Whatever rapport you have with the old fakir, you tell him that he has one more day to stare into his crystal ball or read bird guts or whatever the hell he's doing, because after that, we are out of here and trying an alternate method. It will be much more direct, I promise you that.”

  The senator stepped past his subordinate to take a look at Mamoru. The samurai knelt in the center of the ruins with an intricate pattern of crystals set around him in the sand. The flat of his hands were pressed against several crystals on the ground, and he was couched in deep concentration. With a well-placed foot, Clark kicked a crumbling standing stone, which clattered to the ground. The schoolteacher paid him no heed; he just sat there daydreaming or whatever he was doing.

  Finally, the senator cleared his throat and said out loud, “You have one more day; then we're leaving.”

  Mamoru was silent and still, but as Clark turned to leave the samurai spoke. “As you will, but I haven't gained any useful information yet.”

  Clark spun back, eager to argue. “Little wonder! If you're just going to sit and meditate at least do it on the ship where we're up in the cooler air!”

  “I have told you. My methods are my own. This place is where I need to be.”

  “A ruination of sand and rocks isn't going to tell you squat!”

  “You do not understand.”

  “I damn well don't!”

  “You asked for my help. I am endeavoring to give it. With enough time I will find her.”

  “So could my Aunt Tess, but she wouldn't do it sitting on her ass.”

  “Obviously not.”

  Clark was tempted to call this whole thing off. However, that would mean formulating a new scheme, and the blistering Sahara was sapping even the senator's prodigious energies. So he would let this foolishness go on, for now.

  “One more day!” Clark growled before stomping away past Major Stoddard.

  Mamoru stretched out stiff muscles but didn't stand. “To be honest, I am surprised he has gone along with it this far.”

  “What exactly are you hoping for?” Stoddard squatted in the precious shade of a withered monolith. He eyed the priest, amazed by the man's stamina.

  “You wouldn't understand either.”

  “Is this how you found her last time? In the Tower of London?”

  “No, this is different. This time I am waiting for a signal from her, though we both know how stubborn and unpredictable she can be.”

  “It's been hours since you drank or ate. This wretched heat can kill a man fast.” Stoddard offered Mamoru his canteen, which was taken gratefully. “I can arrange some food for you.”

  “Thank you, yes. I will eat here, just in case.” The samurai closed his eyes and sank into meditation once more.

  After a few moments of watching, Stoddard gained his feet to head for the ship. Suddenly Mamoru stiffened with a sharp gasp. His muscles clenched and his jaw clamped shut with an audible snap. A painful hiss strained through the man's lips.

  “Mamoru?” Stoddard took a step toward the man just as the schoolteacher arched violently and collapsed to the hard stone ground, limbs splayed wide and eyes rolling back in his head. Stoddard grabbed hold of him and doused him with the precious water from the canteen in an attempt to revive him.

  Mamoru was having some sort of seizure, Stoddard thought. He should have insisted the man drink more. If he took ill, Clark would leave him in the desert. The major swore that wouldn't happen, but even his resolve might not be enough and would only wind up angering Clark more, so much so that he might leave them both stranded.

  He called Mamoru's name, and thankfully the man's eyes opened. They blinked slowly a few times and then flew wide as he sat straight up.

  “Easy, man.” Stoddard held his shoulders.

  Mamoru struggled to stand. “It was her.”

  “What was?”

  He grabbed Stoddard's arm tightly. “I know where she is!”

  The major studied the wide-eyed face. Mamoru was yellow from caked sand, and his lips were cracked and white. He looked as if he'd had some kind of psychotic episode. “Are you sure? You lost consciousness.”

  “She is in the Mountains of the Moon. To the south.” Mamoru wiped his face, lost in his own stunned thoughts. “My God, it was incredible. I felt it! What did she do?”

  He wasn't talking to Stoddard; he was babbling and grinning like a madman. Sweat poured down his face.

  Stoddard couldn't take him to Clark in this state. “Just settle down a minute. What makes you think she's there? Did you remember something critical? Does she have friends there?”

  Mamoru paid him no heed. His voice was low and full of astonishment. “I was right. She is the one.”

  Stoddard shook him. “Answer me, or I'll take you to the surgeon for heat exhaustion.”

  “I'm fine.” Mamoru scowled at the American and shrugged off the man's grip. “Inform the senator to make for Katanga and the Mountains of the Moon.”

  Stoddard stood. “You had better have a da
mn good rationalization for the senator.”

  “The earth told me where she is.”

  “Oh? Well, that's brilliant.” Stoddard paused, then said, “I'll come up with something. I don't want him thinking he's banking on a crazy man.”

  “Do you think that?”

  “Maybe, but I'm still open-minded, which is more than Senator Clark is.” Stoddard helped the samurai to stand on his bare feet. “I'm not a hundred percent sure what just happened, but if she's where you say she is there'll be no denying you're a hell of a drama teacher.”

  “She's there. But we must hurry.”

  “Why?” The men waded through sand toward the beached airship.

  “The Mountains of the Moon are a dangerous place, it seems.”

  The grass under Adele's feet was scrubby and matted. The field of the boma was as ordinary as ever she had seen. It did not tell her anything until her foot took one last step. Suddenly her body was flooded with a familiar surge and memories that were not hers, of things she could not possibly know.

  Instinctively she sank to one knee, gripping the damp soil, deepening her connection to a distant rift. It sang of salvation. What she had experienced before seemed pale by comparison. It was as if her life had been hollow before this moment, and now there was energy filling a void she had never known existed within her. The fiery voice rose eagerly within her, and she welcomed what it wanted her to do. A vast storehouse slept beneath her, and she was only dipping a finger into the rich resource. Shimmering smoke seeped up from the ground, coiling about her, the power in the earth consuming her.

  Adele looked up. To her shock, Gareth stood there on the torn field, watching as she crouched on the ground with her hand pulling the very energy from the earth. The look in his eyes told her that he knew what was happening.

  She tried to stop it, but the power would not be denied. It swelled, monstrous and furious, disregarding how she screamed for it to remain in the earth. With her concentration gone, the silver fire around her took control. She was aware that she was being overwhelmed as her vision blurred and her entire body writhed with snakelike smoke. She knew in that instant that Gareth would die—by her hand.

  His name poured out of her lungs as searing and painful as the heat that rose through her. Her last memory was seeing the scorching wave in the air as it flung itself out and over the battlefield, over the vampires.

  Over Gareth.

  And then he was gone.

  After that, darkness swallowed her. It seemed like she had struggled for years to lift herself from the mire, and when she did, she had only one thought.

  Adele's eyes snapped open and she sat up.

  “Gareth.” His name was a hoarse whisper escaping her dry lips.

  Everything hurt as snatches of sound and light rushed back in quick glimpses of a time still separate from her. Her eyes were blurry, and it took a few minutes of trying to focus before the indistinct image before her cleared. Finally, the hide wall of a tent undulating in the wind came into view. Her skin felt hot, as though she had a fever, but she was clearheaded and could see her breath misting in the air with every exhale.

  Exhaustion wrapped its arms around her, wanting to drag her back into its embrace, but she adamantly refused. She remembered everything now. The bloody battle and the sacrifices made. The last look on Gareth's face. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the note he had left for her. “Greyfriar cannot protect you. But I can.” A chill coursed through her like quicksilver.

  All because she had found a rift, tapped it, and the power had taken control. It had risen in her like a wild thing eager to be unleashed.

  Turning her aching head, Adele saw that she was alone in the small tent. A pallet on the ground served as a bed, and she was covered by a heavy fur blanket. She shoved it aside to let the air cool her flushed skin. The pain she felt was not sharp, but more like muscles overused and abused. A groan fell from her lips as she shoved herself to her feet.

  Other sounds were now making themselves heard, such as snatches of indistinct voices and intermittent shouting. The horrible smell of smoke filling her small tent made her stomach roll. Fighting down the nausea, she stepped outside her thin shelter. Steadying herself against the tent frame she got her first glimpse of the killing field. She saw shimmering waves of heat still emanating from the rift she had tapped. Scores of vampire bodies littered the area, most burned and blackened.

  Gareth.

  She fell to her knees and dry-heaved, retching up her dread and anguish. She tried to ignore the shouts and shrieks reverberating around her, and the undercurrent of distant hissing that she understood. Vampires. Fearful whispers, angry but empty threats, and screams of outrage abruptly silenced.

  “Your Highness!” Colonel Anhalt rushed to pick her up from the ground.

  “I'm fine, Colonel,” she told him as she steadied her feet, grateful he was there. “Have you seen Greyfriar?” She couldn't help the high pitch of her voice. Fear welled up inside her like the floodwaters of the Nile, and there was no holding it back.

  He shook his head. “No, Highness, he wasn't here. We are at Jaga's boma. Do you remember? You should return to your tent.”

  “No! He was here. I saw him!”

  “You have been delirious for more than a day.”

  “I saw him! During the battle. He was here.”

  “Very well.” Anhalt nodded to assuage her. “Then we will find him. We are just finishing off the last of the vampire survivors.”

  Adele turned toward the terrified hissing in the mist where Katangan soldiers manhandled a group of bound and near-naked vampires. Soldiers impaled the struggling creatures with iron-tipped spears while other troopers cheered the sight. The humans hefted the dead vampires like cordwood, throwing them onto a pile of cadavers.

  “Vampire survivors?” Adele staggered toward the soldiers. “Stop the executions!”

  A Katangan private stared at her. “That was the last. All of Jaga's horde are destroyed.”

  Her chest seized in a fist, and she gasped as she ran for a pile of burnt ndoki corpses. Anhalt rushed after the princess, attempting to draw her away from the horror.

  “He would not be here with these things,” he cried. “Come, let's search the wounded in the surgeon's tent.”

  Adele would not budge. Soldiers, both Katangan and her own White Guard, stood by in shocked horror as she began to reach deep into the mound of twitching bodies. She stared at the face of each vampire corpse, dragging the freshly dead away so she could inspect the bloated bodies beneath. She yelled back with cold venom. “We will search for him everywhere! Do you hear me?” Her tone brooked no argument on the matter, and her eyes were wide, fierce, and laced with the shine of tears barely held in check.

  Anhalt's voice was a quiet plea. “Then shouldn't we inspect the casualties at the surgeon's tent?”

  Adele paused with her hands on the blackened corpses. “Yes. Do that. You do that. I'll check here.”

  “Your Highness, I do not even know what the man looks like.”

  Adele snapped at him. “His hair is dark…black; his eyes are…his eyes are blue.” Her voice faltered with the futility of the undertaking.

  “This is no task for you.” Anhalt knelt and again urged her back toward the tent.

  Adele stood fast. “I seem to be the only one willing!”

  “Not so, Your Highness.” His head bowed low.

  “Then help me, Colonel. Please.”

  “I will search with you.”

  Adele desperately grabbed his hand, squeezing it with dread relief. “We'll search together. We'll find him.”

  For hours, Colonel Anhalt had to watch his beloved princess do what no human should ever have to do. The White Guard joined in the macabre inspection of bodies, both human and vampire, across the plateau, as did some of Msiri's soldiers. It was horrifying for Adele to be given hope by a call of a man who'd discovered a wounded man or corpse vaguely resembling her companion, only to be dashed again and a
gain when none were the swordsman.

  The mists were rising, and soon visibility would be lost as night descended. The imposing King Msiri approached Anhalt, but the king's horrified attention was on the distant Adele as she moved tirelessly through the mounds of vampire corpses.

  “Why does she look for her love among the fallen enemy, even if she imagined she saw the Greyfriar here?” Msiri shook his head. “Such a great love could topple a soul over a precipice and into an unholy maw.”

  “Are you implying she's gone mad? No, sir! She has not!” Despite his protest, Anhalt had asked himself the same disturbing question as Msiri. He offered up the only rationalization he could to the king. “Her Highness says he was here. The scene was chaos. No stone left unturned, Majesty. She will not give up until he is found. Neither should we.”

  “Yes, I owe her much,” Msiri admitted. “She won the day. The queen mother was not wrong about her.”

  “What did she do during the battle? What did you see?” Anhalt rubbed his face in exhaustion. “What happened? Can you tell me?”

  “I saw the ndoki fall dead before her. Burned like grass in a fire. I saw nothing else. How did your princess do what she did?” Msiri shrugged. “It is impossible to know everything. Sometimes it's better not to know, eh? It is best to accept what fortune brings us.”

  “I don't know. I saw her kneel, and then it seemed as if the vampires died.” Anhalt shook his head. “Excuse me, Your Majesty. I must help her.”

  “You believe she's strong enough to recover from this?” It was a blunt question.

  Anhalt had a blunt answer. “Yes.”

  “Then I leave you to what you must do. If you find Jaga's body in your search, be sure to inform me.”

  “You have not yet found him?”

  “No. But I know we will.”

  Such surety, thought Anhalt. Just like Adele. If only Anhalt could feel the same, but he supposed that was the difference between royalty and a mere soldier. Doubt was not something a sovereign could have, or all would be lost.