by Rogger Bagg
They walked off hand-in-hand, looking at each other intently. Des saw two small puppies, their tails wagging, followed closely behind them.
A lieutenant strode over as the medic finished bandaging Anastasia’s shoulder; he was holding an automatic rifle.
“Looks like those bloody bastards were trying to burn these people out.”
“Actually, more than that,” Des replied.
“What the hell do you call those things?” the lieutenant asked.
“We call them the enemy.” Des held out his hand. “I’m Desmond Cox.” “Lieutenant Jake Mallory. Your picture doesn’t do you justice.”
Des smiled. He was wearing a torn tunic, he was filthy, and his hair and beard were frazzled.
“Well, I’ve been...busy. Thanks for your help.”
“Kicked their ass out of here, didn’t we?” Mallory smiled.
Des nodded. “If you hadn’t come along, we would have done the same, but I’m not going to turn down a helping hand.”
“Oh, come on. They had you outnumbered twenty to one! When we landed a few hours ago, it sounded like the whole place was blowing up!”
Des rubbed his beard. “Just fireworks, Lieutenant Mallory. We like to entertain the enemy before we kill ‘em.”
Des helped Anastasia to her feet and noticed Mallory’s eyes focus on her ring finger.
“This is my wife, Anastasia,” Des said.
“Nice to meet you.” Mallory bowed his head a little.
Anastasia did likewise. “Thank you for all that you have done to save our people. Des, we must go,” she said abruptly.
Des hadn’t heard her speak so coldly before. He said, “Lieutenant Mallory, forgive us, but we must attend to our dead warriors. We can meet and talk later.”
“What can my men do to help?” Mallory asked.
“You have done enough. You may leave,” Anastasia said, and she turned to walk away.
Des realized she feared that this man was here to take him away. “Lieutenant, please understand, this is a very emotional time.”
Mallory nodded.
Des studied Mallory’s tired face. The threat was gone; the adrenaline was no longer pumping. Mallory was vigorously rubbing his right arm with his left hand; his weapon dangled from his neck.
“Lieutenant, please come with us. I’ll show you where you and your men can rest,” Des said.
Mallory called out to Sergeant Crow, and the two men followed Anastasia and Des past the fire line to their home.
Anastasia remained stoic and silent.
Crow studied the doorway as they stepped inside. “No door.”
Des said, “Yup, no doors, no windows, anywhere. There isn’t any need for them because nobody would dare try to steal anything here.”
“Oh, really?” Crow seemed interested.
“Absolutely,” Des said. “If you’re caught stealing…well, they call it the curse of a thousand deaths. The pain is excruciating and can last for days before the torture ends. It’s quite difficult even to watch.”
When Anastasia looked at Des with surprise, he winked at her. She rolled her eyes and revealed a hint of a smile.
Des showed the soldiers their home. “That’s the central tub. There’s shampoo and soap in the urns if you’d like to bathe. This is the guest room. Go ahead and sleep here if you’re tired. You’ll find food and fruit juices in the kitchen. Help yourself to anything you want.”
Des excused himself and dressed in shorts and shirt. Anastasia was already outside.
As he left, Des said to Mallory, “If your men still want to help, please have them pile up the beasts on the beach. We’ll burn them later.”
“Won’t the other beasts return for their dead?” Mallory asked.
“I hope not, but we’ll keep watch. You’re both invited to stay for dinner—say, around seven tonight?”
Mallory instinctively looked at his wristwatch, then at Des’ bare wrist.
“We would be delighted. Seven is perfect.” He added, “We are on a tight schedule.”
Mitch and Alée were carrying a stretcher holding a dead warrior. Anastasia and Des fell into line. There was silence as they climbed; the birds did not sing. The flowers on the bushes and trees were colorless, and the usual vibrant green foliage was pale.
Des knew he would soon have to choose between staying with Anastasia and going with Mitch—was this simply an adventure, or was this now his home, his destiny? As quickly as that, Des decided.
There were too many bodies and not enough litters. Warriors descended past them with empty ones to be refilled.
Des reached the clearing and saw mounds of sticks with dead warriors placed side-by-side, ten to a bier. Even the white linens had to be shared, so the bodies were not completely covered. The living waited grim-faced and silent. Des, too, stood quietly, his arm around Anastasia’s waist. He thought about the warriors’ lives; what now lay on the biers had been merely vehicles for life; the essence had flown.
Mitch held Alée’s hand as the sixth bier filled, and three bodies were laid on a seventh. Sixty-three lives had been lost.
Bearers stood near the biers as the torches were lit. The other warriors massed to one side, and began chanting.
“A-i ye, yi!” Des shouted.
Everyone quieted. Itar’s guards flanked Des and Anastasia.
“E-cock-a-ou-e sa,” Des said loudly, now thinking in Anasazi as he spoke to the warriors.
He told them how brave they had been in fighting the beasts and how proud he was of each and every one of them. He said Rawool and his men had been exceptionally valiant in attacking the beasts first—and, through them, they had all gained strength. However, the cost of Rawool’s courage had been high—twelve of his men had perished in intense combat.
Des continued, telling them that freedom was always costly, and the price now lay before them. He called out names of the dead, saying thank you after each one. He announced that Itar would awaken the dead warriors. Itar deserved such an army in his own kingdom.
Des drew his sword from its sheath and turned towards the biers. He raised the sword above his head, then swiftly dropped the tip to the ground.
The fires burned for days.
“So,” Mitch finished, chuckling, “I bought two puppies!” Samson and Delilah were curled up asleep behind him.
They were sitting cross-legged at the low table. Besides Des and Mitch, there were Lieutenant Mallory, Alée and Sergeant Crow. Mallory and Crow were wearing army fatigues. Mitch was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. Alée wore a low-cut tunic, and as Mitch rambled on, she leaned towards him, revealing what was under that tunic to Mitch.
Des filled the earthen mugs from a large urn and held up a mug.
“May I propose a toast? Here’s to the successful end to war.” He touched mugs with the others, who tipped them back.
When Mitch finished, he had a foamy mustache. “Des, this is—”
“Yes, I know.”
“Now, if Anastasia has in that kitchen a flame-broiled, thick, juicy—”
“Mitch!” Des shrieked.
“Eh, what?”
“There are some things we need to talk about in private,” Des said. Anastasia called Des to help carry the food.
They brought out baked salmon with almonds, asparagus, boiled baby potatoes, bread and butter, a tossed salad, bananas mixed with shredded coconut and sliced papaya.
Anastasia sat next to Des while he filled plates with food and handed them out, along with spives.
Over dinner, Mitch continued to ramble on as Alée beamed.
When most of the food was gone, Mallory poured everyone another beer, then said, “You know why we’re here.”
Des saw gooseflesh rise on Anastasia’s arm as she stabbed her spive into her last bite of fish.
“I’m not going back,�
�� Des said softly.
Mitch plunged his spive into the table. “Hear, hear! If Des stays, I stay.” Alée grinned.
Mallory said, “All right, all right, nobody’s required to be rescued. However, we are on somewhat of a tight schedule. We must leave tomorrow afternoon at the latest. So, if you gentlemen change your minds, you had better do so in a hurry. We won’t be able to return for you.”
Ray-na jogged in, breathless, and spoke quickly to Alée and Anastasia, too fast for Des to understand. When she finished, she stood still, her chest heaving. Alée stood. Anastasia blanched.
“What’s wrong?” Des asked.
Two wolves entered, their tongues lolling, and headed straight for Anastasia.
Crow suddenly held a Bowie knife. Mitch scooped up his puppies as Mallory began to withdraw an automatic weapon.
“Stop! All of you!” Des demanded.
The wolves leaped on Anastasia. She cried out in pain.
“Down!” Des said in Anasazi, then explained to the others in English, “They don’t know she’s injured.”
The wolves sat obediently, then sniffed at Anastasia’s shoulder and whimpered. She patted their heads.
“They’re fucking pets!” Mitch said. “Oops.”
Des replied, “They’re more than pets; they’re working dogs—and, from what Anastasia told me, they’ve been on assignment. Ray-na, we need to send runners to tell the villagers they can return home.”
Anastasia said sullenly, “They already know. They are moving...coming back. Almost here.”
“And—?” Des asked, wondering about her sudden change of mood.
“The supreme intertribal council is with them. My wolves were guarding them. They changed directions and will be here tomorrow.”
“Why?” Des asked, thinking that Anastasia seemed awfully distracted.
“To decide my fate.”
Des hit the table with his fist, which jostled his beer mug. The law was coming. That son-of-a-bitch Rawool had reached out to them—he must still be after Des’ wife. That bastard!
Des spoke to Ray-na in her language. “Let me know when the council is nearby.”
After Ray-na left, Des said to Mallory, “Lieutenant, your men are welcome to stay here tonight.”
Mallory observed that it was a good idea to keep the Americans together, so he accepted Des’ offer. The house was soon filled with men in fatigues eating rations.
Des tucked Anastasia into bed with the wolves curled up by her feet. The pain relievers the medic had given her knocked her out quickly.
Outside, sunlight filtered through threatening clouds. Des found Mitch sitting on the stone bench, Alée at one hand and a beer in the other. He looked like he was on vacation in some tropical paradise in his Hawaiian shirt, shorts and sandals. Des thought Alée would keep him in line: she was a warrior with her feet on the ground—but she looked strangely different, too.
“Mitch?”
“Yes, Des.”
“I think it’s time for a short man-to-man talk.”
“Not a problem. Here, honey, hold this.” Mitch handed his beer mug to Alée. “Now, stay right here. I’ll be back.”
She nodded, smiled and folded her legs up under her. Mitch patted her on the knee, then followed Des.
Mitch said, “Hey, have you noticed how the sun stays straight overhead and never moves? I don’t get that.”
Des watched the last rays of sunshine disappear behind black clouds. “Yeah, I don’t understand it either, but you get used to it.”
When Alée was out of earshot, Des said, “The villagers here are descendents of two great nations of people from the surface of Earth; they arrived the same way I did. They’ve bonded together to withstand a common enemy. Anastasia is from one tribe, Rawool the other. The council could annul our marriage and force her to marry Rawool.”
“So this guy Rawool wants your wife, and the council may think it’s a good idea to end up with a common heritage.”
“Exactly. I think it’s one of their newer policies because the two tribes haven’t always seen eye to eye. They do agree on one item—both cultures are devout vegetarians.”
Mitch seemed deep in thought, so Des continued: “All life is revered and respected. I’ve grown to love the people and this land, most of their customs and beliefs, and I’m not leaving. If I have to, I’ll fight to keep Anastasia—and here, they fight to the death.”
“I hope that’s not necessary,” Mitch said.
Des sighed. “I hope so, too.”
Mitch said, “Yeah, Alée and I would miss you.”
Des smiled and cuffed Mitch on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m not that easy to beat.”
“Bullshit,” Mitch said. “Vegetarians, eh? I’d say giving up meat’s a small price to pay for paradise.”
Chapter 45
It rained all night and the fog never lifted the next day.
Des helped Anastasia down the mountain. There was a cacophony from the beach. Camels bayed. Men shouted. Children screamed at play. Beast cremation fires continued to roar and spark as warriors tended the flames. A woman shrieked when she discovered her house had been burned.
Bethenna found them. She carefully hugged Anastasia, then took both of Des’ hands and kissed him on the cheek. Des was astonished. Bethenna pointed into the fog, then the three of them moved through the managed chaos.
Des remembered other meetings he had attended here, and he eventually understood that if you didn’t know the players, you couldn’t tell who held the power. Maybe it was a protection device—if the enemy was unaware of whom the chiefs were, then the chain of command wouldn’t be broken. Three men sat cross-legged on mats and another two meandered behind them, listening to Rawool speak as he walked around the inner circle. Des fingered the hilt of his sword, aware that the real power behind the council remained hidden.
Rawool began shouting, his voice clear as he pounded a fist against his open hand.
Des saw a man in the outer circle and instantly realized that it was he who was the chief of all chiefs. He appeared about the same age as Des. It wasn’t his plain tunic or shoulder-length, wavy, brown hair that betrayed him—it was his face. Although he looked strangely familiar, Des was sure he hadn’t seen him before.
“Who is he?” Des asked Anastasia, indicating the warrior.
She said, “Atar. He is Itar’s son’s son’s son’s son. He is head of council.”
Des said, “Pure Anasazi blood. How did he gain the power?”
“He is my brother,” Anastasia replied, as if this explained everything.
“Can he overturn the council’s vote if they side with Rawool?” Des was truly surprised. Not only did he not know that Anastasia and Bethenna had a brother, but she’d never told him that she was related to Itar. He wondered what other revelations might be forthcoming.
“Abba,” she replied, “but it would certainly lead to war. Atar knows this.”
While Rawool spoke, Atar and Des were studying each other. Atar nodded slightly; Des bowed.
Anastasia told Des, “Atar heard what you said about Itar when he died, that you called Itar a god and released the dead warriors to be in his army.”
Rawool finally finished, then walked away from the seated warriors and sat on the sand.
“Yi, yi, yi, yi,” Bethenna shouted, right behind Des’ ear.
She stomped in front of the council and spat upon the ground. Her speech was loud and fast, but Des picked up most of it. She spat again, then walked sternly over to stand with Anastasia and Des after she finished.
“Yi, yi, yi, yi!” Des yelled.
He panned the council with one hand on his sword, then said in their language: “Where I come from, we don’t treat wives like cattle. Anastasia is not for sale or trade, at any price.”
He walked back to Anastasia just as
Mitch arrived with an M-60 strapped to his chest. Alée stood between him and Des, holding her war club.
Anastasia said, “If the council votes in favor of Rawool, I must go with him. Otherwise, the Aztec will kill you and anyone who tries to defend you. Their word binds us all. It is our way.”
Mitch said, “We can’t take that chance. We need to act before the council votes. Mallory thinks we can give these folks a run for their money.”
Des was appalled. “I’m not going to let you shoot my people!”
The council members were talking amongst themselves—Atar included.
“Then do something, Des,” Mitch pleaded.
“All right, follow me.”
Des approached the council with Anastasia by his side, Mitch and Alée behind them. Mitch noisily loaded a round into the M-60’s chamber. The outer circle parted and hushed. Atar looked at Des and frowned.
Des knew that no one was supposed to address the council while they were making a decision, but he spoke anyway.
“Anastasia and I are going to leave and no longer be a part of this. We will begin a new tribe somewhere else. Any persons who wish to come with us would be welcome.”
A camel bayed; the only other sound was the crackling of the beast fires.
“Yi, yi, yi!” A high-pitched voice rose from behind the council.
B`ahta stepped in behind Alée, dragging her war club behind her.
A bloodcurdling war-whoop heralded Ray-na’s arrival to stand behind Mitch.
Itar’s guards moved to flank Des and Anastasia.
Soon, masses of warriors were on the move to stand with Des’ group.
“Stop!” Atar shouted in the Aztec tongue.
The warriors ceased their movement and turned to him.
Atar continued: “You underestimate the wisdom of this council. We accept Des as our king, and reinstate Anastasia as our queen. The council has spoken.”
“We need to leave soon,” Mallory said to Des and Mitch on the beach.
Des nodded in agreement.
Mallory continued: “You’re sure that...Okay, I’m on a rescue mission, but not only do you not want to be rescued, but Mitch wants to stay here, too?”
“Yes, sir,” Mitch responded quickly.