The Soterion Mission

by Stewart Ross

  For the moment, he had to get after those infuriating Tallins and the Yonner they were protecting. If he could find their trail again and see which direction they were headed in…

  “Malik! Malik!” An urgent voice interrupted Timur’s musings. He looked up to see a man of around thirteen winters running along the edge of the stream towards him. Reaching the point where his chief was seated, the near-naked youth scrambled up the bank and fell on his knees before him.

  “Yes, Giv? Speak!”

  “Dog sniff good! Good sniff! Find!” Giv panted, looking up with eyes that were half delighted, half anxious. No Grozny ever knew how their Malik was going to react – that was part of his mystique and his power.

  Timur raised a pale eyebrow. “Are you trying to say that a dog has found the scent of the people we’re hunting, Giv?”

  The youth nodded vigorously. “Yeah! Yeah! Good scent!”

  “Where?”

  “There!” Giv waved an arm in the general area of the stream.

  “Yes, dungbrain, but which side of the stream is the trail?”

  “Side, Malik?”

  “Yes, side of the stream, ratspittle. Left or right?”

  Giv, beyond the limit of his vocabulary, gawped helplessly. “Eh? Lefrite?”

  Struggling to control his frustration, the chief told the messenger to stand in the middle of the stream and indicate which way the dog had moved off. It was left – his quarry was still following the noonday sun.

  Timur rose and began pacing up and down in the mottled shadows like a ghost. Sheza and the bodyguard behind him watched in awe and admiration: Malik Timur did more thinking in an afternoon than all of them together managed in a whole moon. Except perhaps for Jamshid and Jumshid, the bodyguard captains.

  At some point, Timur realised, the Tallins would have to cross the river which the Zeds bluntly called ‘No-Man’ – no man who entered the broad stream swarming with crocodiles and poisonous water snakes was ever seen again. The only way across was by the one remaining Long Dead bridge, a rusty and dilapidated structure whose central pier had been carried away by floods long ago. Careful travellers could still get to the other bank by balancing precariously for about ten paces along the two corroded steel rails remaining over the void.

  At the bridge, Timur planned to cut off his quarry, seize the woman and kill her escort. But how to get there before his prey, which was now at least two days ahead of him?

  “Jumshid!”

  A squat man of seventeen winters but many fewer teeth lumbered forward from the ranks of the bodyguard. “Malik?”

  “The three horses we seized in the rainy season – what condition are they in now?”

  “Condition?” repeated the captain. Although more fluent than Giv, many of his master’s words remained a mystery to him.

  “Yes, condition, loghead! How – are – they? Can they be ridden?”

  “Ah! One is sick and will die soon, Malik. The men want to eat it.”

  “Well, they can’t! And the other two?”

  “The big one is good for riding. The small one is limping – only light man can ride.”

  “That will do, Jumshid,” said Timur, his pallid hands twitching with nervous excitement. “You take the bigger one and Sheza the smaller one, and ride to No-Man River. You know the way?”

  “Yes, Malik!”

  “Good. When you are there, go to the bridge. Bridge. Do you understand?”

  Jumshid hesitated. “Old iron over No-Man, Malik?”

  “That’s it.” Timur, who was a tall man, walked up to the captain until he towered above him like a gigantic stalk. “Now, do whatever is necessary to stop the Tallins crossing the bridge. Break the bridge down. Repeat!”

  “Break the bridge down.”

  “Or stand on the other side and shoot anyone trying to cross. Repeat!”

  “Shoot anyone trying to cross,” echoed Jumshid faithfully. He prided himself on being one of the best of all the Grozny at remembering orders.

  “Excellent. Hold the Tallins there and we will charge up behind them and destroy them. Simple, eh?”

  “Charge up behind and destroy! Simple!”

  Timur clamped a hand on his captain’s shoulder and ordered him to leave with Sheza immediately. When they had gone, the Malik looked up at the canopy of leaves above him and paused. It was true that if those Tallins followed the sun they would arrive at the river, but on the way they might meet with something else. Yes, on the same route lay the settlement of the Constants who called themselves the Children of Gova. Well, if the Tallins met with them, anything might happen…

  The Malik shook his head. No, the chances of them bumping into the Gova settlement were remote. It was too small and isolated. The river was where he and his men would make for, and fast. There he would take his revenge, making the elusive Roxanne regret with every fibre of her bewitching body the moment she had outwitted him.

  All this time, unsure whether or not he was allowed to move, the youth who had brought the news of the rediscovered trail was still standing in the middle of the stream. Timur stared at him for half a second, before he remembered who he was and said, “Ah, yes! Still with us, Giv? Tell the men to stop the search and come here.”

  “Stop search? Yes, Malik!” The youth began to wade off downstream.

  “And Giv, I am pleased with you,” Timur shouted after him. A grin spread across the young man’s face. “I will give you a prize. Tonight you may play with the breeding slaves.”

  Grinning like a new moon and muttering “Prize! Prize!” over and over to himself, Giv splashed off round a bend in the stream. What a useful double order, thought Timur. With a single command I’ve rewarded loyalty and done something about the numbers problem. I must try that again some time.

  Ahead of Timur and his tribe, Taja was also issuing commands. “Before anyone responds to Zavar’s request,” she began, looking straight at Cyrus and then down at the wounded man himself, “I feel it’s my duty to make our position clear.”

  “Here we go again,” muttered Navid in a half whisper.

  Taja spun round to confront him. “Shut up, Navid! It’s high time we got this straight. I am risking – probably sacrificing – my life for a very dubious mission. All of us are. We’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hostile Zeds and almost certainly being followed by the Grozny, the most dangerous of them all. We can’t tell for sure whether Roxanne is one of us, a Constant, or whether she is telling us the truth with her Soterion story. She doesn’t even seem to know where we’re going! And has it ever occurred to you that she may herself have been tricked?”

  Eyes flaming, Taja paused and looked round the group. Though the Tallins knew she could be fierce, this was beyond anything they had seen previously and Cyrus decided it was best to let her have her say. He was impressed, sure, but watching her face closely, did he notice a hint of fear behind those flashing eyes?

  “If I say no more quarrelling,” she ordered, “that’s what happens. Got that into your heads? We’re Constants. Or at least we say we are.” She looked scornfully towards Roxanne. “And Constants are true to the ideas of the Long Dead: courage, respect and unity. If we lose those, we are nothing. Mere Zeds!” Again she looked hard at Roxanne.

  “Zavar, as he has told us himself, is dying. He has asked us to leave him here and continue the mission. He has shown courage. Now it’s up to us to match it with respect and unity. That’s what I demand we do.”

  Cyrus looked across at Roxanne. There was no point in trying to argue, ran the unspoken message between them. It would only make things worse.

  Navid was less of a politician. Before Cyrus could stop him, he shook his shaggy head in anger and reminded Taja what they had all agreed: although she was a Mudir back home, out here she was just one of them. He had joined the missio
n because Cyrus was leading it, not her. She had not been invited. If she didn’t like it, why didn’t she go home and do her bossing there?

  The situation was getting out of control. When Zavar and Cyrus both tried to speak at the same time, Navid folded his arms and turned his back on all of them. Taja stood breathing noisily, staring at the long hair curling over Navid’s shoulders. To their left, a startled bird screeched into the hot, dry sky.

  It was Roxanne who calmed things down. Walking quietly over to Navid, she laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Get off, Taj –” he began, turning round sharply. He stopped, confused. “Oh, sorry, Roxanne. I didn’t realise it was you.”

  “Don’t worry, Navid,” she replied. “No need to apologise.” She spoke so calmly and clearly that it was hard to believe she had heard all the harsh insinuations of Taja’s rant. “Since I seem to be the cause of all this trouble, please let me say something.”

  “Why not? Please go on.” Taja made no effort to hide her scorn.

  In a manner that was close to motherly, Roxanne kept a hand on Navid’s arm. Her voice, as when she spoke before the Majlis back in Della Tallis, was unquestionably sincere.

  “You are all, every one of you, brave and wonderful people. I know what you have sacrificed and I hope that one day, when our mission is accomplished, you will be recognised as the saviours of our people.

  “I have not lied to you and I will not lie to you. My story is true. I believe there is a Soterion and that we will find it and reveal its secrets. But we can do this only if we pull together. Please.”

  Navid nodded his head slightly. “As for our poor friend Zavar,” Roxanne concluded, “his fate is not for us to decide, is it? He had made his decision and, Cyrus and Navid, I believe we would do him a great dishonour if we ignored it. Do you want him to die knowing he may be the cause of his friends’ deaths, too?”

  “No, thank you!” cut in Zavar in a manner that brought a smile to every face.

  The crisis was over. At Cyrus’ insistence they all shook hands and set about making the dying man as comfortable as possible. Navid and Cyrus erected a shelter from branches to protect him from the sun. While Roxanne settled him within this leafy tent, Taja went off to pick some medicinal herbs she had seen growing nearby. She knew a bit about plants, she announced when she returned, and these would help Zavar sleep if the pain became too great. Cyrus was tempted to ask about the leaves she had placed on Zavar’s wound at the stream: if she knew what she was doing, why had her treatment failed to prevent the infection spreading? In the end he thought better of it, deciding the wound must have been inflicted by a poisoned weapon. Besides, there had been enough confrontation for one day.

  They finally departed as the afternoon was drawing to a close, walking fast as if they wanted to get away not just from Zavar but also from their decision to leave him. For a long time no one spoke.

  Finally, as the disc of the dying sun dipped beneath the tops of the tallest trees, Cyrus became aware of someone coming up behind him. It was Roxanne.

  “Cyrus, why do you think she joined us?” Her voice was different: quicker, more urgent.

  The question took him by surprise. “You mean Taj –”

  “Yes. Come on, let’s stop pretending, Cyrus. We haven’t known each other long, but I think we can trust each other, can’t we?”

  “Of course.” With the smile of recognition that passed between them, he again felt that thrill of delight at just being with her. It was a wonderful emotion, yet painfully confusing when death sat poised visibly on every shoulder.

  “So, why’s she here?” Roxanne asked again.

  “Tricky. Part of it is that, well, she and I were lovers. Sort of.”

  “Were, Cyrus?”

  “Yes, were. Nothing serious. She was keener than me – made the relationship a bit lopsided. One day Leiss told me, in confidence, I was ‘unwise’ – that was the word he used – to tangle with Taja. But she was attractive in a dangerous sort of way. I admired her sharp mind, her cleverness, her skill at seeing what mattered and what didn’t.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t exactly a romantic relationship and I probably shouldn’t have got so involved. I felt guilty sometimes – I suppose I was also a bit sorry for her, reaching her Death Year not having had any children.”

  Roxanne shook her head. “From what I’ve seen, Cyrus, and I don’t want to be unkind, but is she the sort of woman who needs your pity – or anyone else’s?”

  He laughed. “You’re right. She’s as tough as they come. Ambitious, too: Taja does what’s good for Taja. Honestly, I could never figure out what she saw in me.”

  “You couldn’t?” Roxanne’s voice was lighter, teasing. “Then I’ll tell you. She saw the future, Cyrus. She saw a tall, well-built and handsome man, more than a winter younger than herself, who was both a warrior and a thinker. A true leader. Someone with a body and a mind – and a heart.”

  Cyrus tutted and shook his head.

  “Don’t recognise yourself, Cyrus?”

  “No. I’m no leader. I’m too full of questions I can’t answer.”

  “That’s what makes you different. Most people don’t even ask the questions.” Again they exchanged glances, confirming with their eyes the cocktail of physical and mental attraction growing between them.

  “You’re different, too, Roxanne. You know that, don’t you?”

  She shrugged and flashed him a quick smile. “Maybe.”

  “Unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

  They walked on in silence for a few moments, each taking in the significance of what had been said.

  “But we must be careful, Roxanne,” continued Cyrus, lowering his voice. “Very careful. She can be ruthless, you know.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Going back to why she’s here. Well, it may be partly because of me, but it’s also because I reckon she’s changed her mind about you. To begin with, back in the Majlis, I’m certain she really was afraid you were a spy, a traitor. Now I’m sure she knows in her heart of hearts – but won’t admit it – that you’ve been telling the truth about the Soterion all along. That’s why she’s here and why she keeps telling us she’s a Mudir. She was furious when she wasn’t chosen to be our Emir – this gives her a chance to be something even more important.”

  “Leader of the Soterion Mission?”

  “Yes. She wants us to succeed. That’s why you’re safe – for the moment.”

  Roxanne thought for a moment. “You mean she’ll put up with me as long as I’m the only one who can read? A bit nasty, but I see what you mean. I thought it was odd when she approved of me teaching you. Once you know how…”

  “Exactly. But we’re not there yet, are we? I only know the ‘P’ for ‘Peter Pan’!”

  “Then it’s time for another lesson, Cy! You don’t mind if I call you ‘Cy’, do you? Just between ourselves.”

  “No, not if you let me call you ‘Roxy’.”

  She hesitated. “Someone used to call me that. They’re no longer alive.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll stick to ‘Roxanne’. It’s a lovely name.”

  “No, it’s alright. Call me Roxy. It’ll make me feel young again.” After a brief pause, she went on briskly, “OK, let’s begin with the first letter of the alphabet. It’s ‘A’, as in ‘IKE - A’.”

  “Hang on, Roxy! What’s an ‘IKEA’?”

  “Ah! It’s found in the second of the three Books of Yonne. Its name is the IKEA Catalogue.”

  The travellers had been climbing steadily since leaving Della Tallis and in the hills, although the days were still blisteringly hot, at night the temperature dropped sharply. Afraid to light a fire in case it attracted the Zeds, they slept close to each other for warmth.

  On the first tw
o nights, Taja had made sure she was next to Cyrus. When they lay down at the end of the third day, however, she placed herself beside Navid and whispered to him for some time before they fell asleep.

  Cyrus nudged Roxanne and pointed towards his friend. “Eh?” he mouthed.

  “Wants an ally,” she mouthed back. Then, leaning across and putting her mouth to his ear, she whispered, “Trying to get between you and Navid?”

  Cyrus rolled over and gently pushed back her hair. By starlight the curve of her neck was as smooth as glass. “Impossible!” he replied, brushing her ear with his lips as he spoke.

  She smiled and felt for his hand. Not long afterwards, still holding on to each other, they fell asleep.

  By the morning of the fourth day, the mission had eaten nearly all the food they had brought with them from Della Tallis. At lower altitude, there were plenty of wild fruits and berries; now the land was less fertile and the vegetation thinner. Taja’s skill as an archer meant they did not go hungry: she bagged a couple of plump rabbits that they skinned and roasted over an open fire lit with Cyrus’ flint and steel. Although the meat was nourishing and tasted good, the process took time and there was always a danger that the smoke would be seen by prowling Zeds.

  Corby had no such worries. He loved being in the open all day long, optimistically chasing birds, growling at snakes from a safe distance, and munching happily on the many bones he found lying about in the increasingly bleak landscape. He didn’t realise it, of course, but it was this bone-hunting that brought about a sudden and dramatic change in the group’s fortunes.

  Around mid-morning on the fourth day of the mission, Corby came bounding up to Navid with his latest snack firmly between his teeth. His master glanced at him and smiled. “Good boy, Corby! Got yourself a nice something to chew on, have you?”