The Archivist (14 page)

“Let’s go get your woman,” he whispers. He has never met Danae, so he does not know that she is her own woman and we are just friends. I do not bother correcting him; he will find out soon enough.

We leave the horses tied where they are and walk up the trail stealthily. Little Crow orders Malsum to stay by his side now, so the cat glides silently through the trees next to us while we work our way toward Danae’s captors.

In about twenty minutes, we are close enough to hear indistinct voices and smell smoke ahead of us. I point out a small ridge to our left that overlooks the encampment. Little Crow nods and we circle around, then crawl up to the crest. Malsum understands that we are now stalking our prey, so she crouches down and edges forward with us.

Little Crow was right. Unlike the previous evening when I felt nearly consumed with my emotions, my mind is as clear and calm as the eye of a hurricane. My senses are keenly tuned into every sight and sound, and I feel in complete control of my every movement, like I have not felt since I was piloting spacecraft.

We ease slowly through a large shrub on the ridge, and peer down through the leaves at the camp. I suck in my breath. About forty yards away, Danae sits on a log next to a large fire, her hands bound in front of her and her auburn hair disheveled. She stares vacantly at the campfire and her clothes are dirty, but she seems otherwise unharmed.

One man stands beside the fire, putting it out, while two others are packing up gear. A fourth man sits next to the fire, cleaning a pot. They all wear black capes, except for the man by the fire. The scarlet fringe on his cape indicates he is a leader, and he carries a staff.

The leader finishes kicking dirt over the fire and sets his staff aside as he picks up a plate. He walks over to Danae, holds it out to her, and commands her to eat. When she shakes her head and pushes the plate away, he grips her bound hands and hauls Danae to her feet.

“Get your hands off me,” she yells, and struggles to pull free from his grasp.

Disciples are fervent when it comes to their devotion to Mother Earth, but they are not celibate monks by any means. The man laughs as he grabs her crotch, then she kicks him hard in the shin while spitting in his face. The leader responds with a backhanded slap across the face, hard enough to knock Danae over the large log.

Like a finger snap, the hurricane eye is gone, and rage hisses in my ears. I yearn to dismember the man, and I start to rise. Nothing exists except my sword and that man’s throat, but then, white-hot pain shoots through my temple.

I look to my right, and see Little Crow gesturing for me to lie back down, gripping the hilt of the knife he smacked me with. After my initial surge of anger, I recognize that it was the only way he could snap me out of my rage. But it still hurts like hell.

“Not yet,” Little Crow hisses. “Soon, real soon. But not yet.”

Reaching down, the leader hauls Danae back to her feet and slaps her once more, then orders one of his men to take her over to the stream so she can make herself ready to travel; it must be some Disciple ritual. One of the packers sets his backpack down and heads over to Danae, and unties her hands. They obviously keep her bound during the night while they sleep so she cannot run away.

She rubs her wrists until the packer pushes her shoulder to get her moving, and she gives him a sullen glare before moving away through the trees toward the river. As they disappear into the trees, the leader takes his staff to the far side of the encampment and raises it to begin some sort of prayer ritual.

After giving me a quick nod, Little Crow cups his hands around his mouth and makes a trilling call. Immediately, the two standing Disciples turn to look our way, and the leader steps around the smoldering fire pit. As if sensing something amiss, he sets aside his staff and draws his sword.

Little Crow gives Malsum a ‘forward’ gesture. The crouching feline, her eyes intently fixed on the leader, flows over the crest like fog rolling across a mountain ridge, and as silently. Her tail flicks as she moves forward in slow motion. The Disciple leader freezes when she emerges from the brush.

The lioness’ muscles twitch with restrained energy. A dark spot forms on the crotch of the leader’s pants as he urinates. The sword slips from his hand, and then the man screams as he turns to run.

In a flashing movement, Malsum pursues him down the hill, making no more sound than a breeze blowing through the trees. Both prey and predator vanish into the trees on the other side of the camp.

Little Crow and I spring to our feet, swords drawn, and race down the ridge. The man who was breaking camp draws his sword to face us, while the pot-washing man leaps to his feet before he remembers to reach down for his weapon. Danae and the remaining man emerge from the trees on the other side of the encampment.

Little Crow takes on the sword-wielding Disciple while I circle around the fire to engage the pot-washer. My foe is armed with a staff as he advances toward me. He swings one end of it toward my head. Without thinking, I parry with my sword, and the Tucker-forged weapon snaps, leaving me with a stub on a hilt.

As I toss the useless hilt aside, the Disciple gives a victorious cry and swings his weapon around, aiming to smash my head in. Without thinking, I employ a kung fu move I learned a decade ago on a retrieval, and step around the downward moving staff. Then I use a Pak Sao hand block to deflect the blow, as I grab the still-moving weapon.

I pull the man toward me, and my other hand shoots forward to deliver a Wing Chun straight punch between the man’s eyes. I am not sure he even sees it coming.

He releases his weapon when he collapses. As I hold it, rage explodes within me. My opponent lies on the ground before me, but I do not see an incapacitated Disciple. I see Brannock’s slit throat, Danae’s blood on her apartment floor, Doc’s body as he lay in the cave. Without thinking, I swing the weapon over and over and over, until I hear Little Crow’s distant voice.

“K’Marr! You can stop. I think he’s dead.”

A wave of dizziness passes over me and I realize I am standing over the fallen Disciple, holding his blood-spattered staff. I look down and see that the man’s skull is smashed almost beyond recognition. Little Crow stands a few feet away, shaking his head, and Danae kneels next to the body of the last Disciple, staring at me in shock.

Her sling is wrapped around the throat of the Disciple next to her, and as she pulls it free, she says, “This belt of mine is good for more than just throwing rocks.”

I take several deep breaths, shocked by my experience of battle rage. In thirty years of retrieving I have always fought with an emotional detachment and calmness under fire. I have a natural ability that my Special Forces retrieval instructor said most people only acquire through training—she was actually frightened when she said that. I wipe the weapon off on the Disciple.

“Are you okay?” I ask as I regain my composure. She nods as she rises, then just stands there, looking lost. An eerie quiet hangs over the encampment while I step around the dead Disciple and walk toward Danae.

As I approach her, she holds out her hand to fend me off, and she turns away, shaking her head. Perhaps she is disgusted with what she just saw me do to that Disciple. I know that I am.

When I stop in front of her, she turns back toward me and with a mumbled curse, punches me in the shoulder. Then she throws her arms around my neck and pulls her eyes to within inches of mine. Her gaze delves deep; for a moment I think she is going to kiss me, but she whispers, “Thank you… my best friend,” and buries her face against my neck while she sobs quietly.

I could live for a thousand more years, and even then I doubt I would understand women.

After a couple of minutes, she eases back and holds my hands. “I kept hoping you would come, but I knew you left with your friend. How did you know?”

“I’ll tell you later. Are you okay?”

I run my hands over her face and hair as I take a half-step back to examine her for any injuries. My voice is choked with more concern than I expected; I realize just how very deeply I needed her to be alive, which disconcerts me. Danae sees the unspoken fear in my eyes, and places her palm on my cheek as she responds.

“I’m fine. They did more than you want to know, but less than you fear.” Then her eyes widen, and Danae digs her nails into my arm as she cries out, “K’Marr!”

Malsum strides into camp. The lioness’ muzzle is bright pink, and her tail twitches as she approaches Little Crow. He reaches behind her head and scratches the cat’s ears.

“Don’t worry,” I reassure Danae. “Malsum is on our side. In fact, you can thank her for tracking you down.”

“Um, maybe later,” she murmurs, then shudders and steps closer to me. I put my arm around her waist to reassure her, and drink in the subtle scent and feel of Danae.

“I want to get back to our horses. Are you two done yet?” Little Crow asks.

“Danae, this rude companion of mine is Little Crow,” I say, as I reluctantly slip my arm off her waist and lead her toward my friend. She reaches out to shake his hand and I continue, “He and Malsum are partners, and I work with them sometimes. Little Crow, this is my good friend, Danae.”

Little Crow glances at me with a raised eyebrow as he shakes her hand. Then Little Crow turns to look around the Disciple camp. He retrieves a coil of light rope from one of the packs, but finds nothing else of interest. We need to get back to the horses, so we make no effort to bury the dead or even cover them, but we do not desecrate them either.

A part of me desires to carve Brannock’s initials on their faces, but I restrain myself. I know that he would not have wanted that. Besides, I think I have connected enough with my dark side for one day.

Instead I look for clues, and find a silver medallion around the neck of the Disciple leader. The quarter-sized pendant is stamped on one side with a Disciple symbol—a reverse swastika formed out of sickles, which represent the four seasons of Mother Earth. The other side bears the initials ‘EV’ in the center of a small sunburst. I slip the talisman into a side compartment of my pack.

I already have a new walking stick, so I toss the leader’s staff into the campfire. The swords we got from Tucker were next to useless. Even though Little Crow’s sword did not shatter like mine did, it still has several nicks in the blade. Since Tucker’s steel cannot even stand up to a brief skirmish, we swap our swords for the superior Disciple weapons. No wonder the general gave them away so generously.

We are done here but before we move on, I notice that Danae is indeed limping, just as Little Crow had deduced.

“I think we should look at your feet,” I say to Danae. She nods as she sits on a fallen log and holds up a foot.

She is wearing a pair of ill-fitting boots that the Disciples must have provided their bare-footed kidnap victim. I carefully remove her boots and peel the socks back off her bloody feet, but she still grimaces. I am hardly a field medic, but she has some nasty blisters that are getting infected, and needs to stay off her feet.

Danae holds onto the boots as I lift her onto my shoulders in a fireman’s carry, and I follow Little Crow as we take the path back to where we left the horses.

“How are you doing?” I ask Danae after we have been walking for a few minutes.

“I’m fine for a little while, but I wouldn’t want you to carry me all the way back to town. Are you doing okay?”

“Let’s just say this isn’t as much fun as the last time I had you on top of me,” I reply.

“I’ll bet!” she laughs. “We both know we agreed not to do that again, but I promise I’ll find some way to thank you.”

“You don’t have to, Danae,” I squeeze her hand. “Really. This is what friends do for each other. No matter what happens, I’m always here for you.”

I do not think about the words before I say them, but as they come out, I know something has changed between us. Inevitably our lives will still take us in separate ways, but I sincerely feel that my bond of friendship with Danae will endure forever.

Now we just have to get Danae back to Entiak and safely settled, so I can go after the generator and return back to Mars, and Sarah.

Saffron and Thorn are still tied up where we left them, but they are pulling on the long leads we secured them to, and stamping nervously. Quite likely we got back just in time, if they sense a nearby predator. Malsum will nip that problem before it buds.

“We have to get my feet cleaned up,” Danae says. Little Crow leads both of our mounts over to the river so they can drink, and I follow behind with Danae.

After setting her down on a large rock that juts out of the riverbank, I place her feet in the icy mountain water. She exhales sharply and cringes at first, but I know from experience that her soles will lose feeling quickly while I get my backpack from our camp.

The rudimentary first aid kit tucked in a side pocket contains some bandaging, and an antibiotic ointment that is only a crude recreation of what we had in the Golden Olden Days. Still, it is better than nothing until we get back to town, and I do not need to waste time hunting for medicinal herbs.

By the time I lift her feet out of the stream, they are clean, and numb enough that I can dress her wounds without causing too much pain.

“You still haven’t told me how you knew I was kidnapped,” Danae says while I dry and bandage her feet gently. “Did you… change your mind?”

“I was going to leave, but the boat was gone.” I stop swabbing the sole of her foot for a moment, “Unfortunately, Brannock was still there. I found him in the water under the dock. Someone killed him and took the boat.”

Danae bites her lip, and then touches my shoulder in consolation. “I’m so sorry. I could tell you were good friends.”

“Yeah, well, right now it’s unhealthy to have me as a friend,” I respond with a dry laugh. A bitter anger rises in my throat and I shiver involuntarily as I recall my berserker episode. “The last thing he said was to hurry back. I wonder if he would still be alive if I hadn’t taken so long.”

“What about your generator?”

“Gone with the boat.”

Danae is silent while I apply some ointment and finish bandaging her feet, then she examines my handiwork.

“Not bad,” she says approvingly as she prods at her wrapped feet. “You should consider being a doctor’s assistant if you ever decide to retire.”

“The Archives doesn’t have much of a retirement plan,” I say as I hoist her in my arms. “The blisters aren’t as bad as I thought at first, so they should heal pretty quickly, but let’s keep you off your feet as long as we can.”

Danae wraps her arms around my neck as I carry her back to where Little Crow is feeding the horses from a sack of oats—not as much as they want, but enough to sustain them.

After I set Danae down on a log, she touches my arm and waits for me to look into her eyes before she says quietly, “I understand how you feel. Every day I ask myself, would my father still be alive if I had made different choices? I’ll never have an answer to that question. But I know this—he would tell me to worry more about making good choices in the future than about the bad choices I made in the past. I have a feeling that if Brannock were here, he would say the same thing to you.”

I do not reply, but I am sure she is right.

I am debating whether to put Danae on Saffron and walk, or alternate having Danae ride double with me and Little Crow, when he calls Malsum over and uncoils the rope he took from the Disciples. Cutting the cord to length, he quickly weaves together an elaborate harness, and cinches it to a snug fit on Malsum. After tugging several times, he appears satisfied, and gestures that I should put Danae on Thorn.

Before I can move, Little Crow laughs at the expression on my face when he grabs the harness and climbs up onto Malsum’s back. Holding onto the rope, he pulls on it gently, and Malsum responds with a deep, rumbling purr as she turns toward the trail. Little Crow’s companion seems to enjoy this partnership.

Then I start chuckling as well while I boost Danae up into her saddle, and she gazes at me in confusion.

Now I realize what that long-forgotten defense research lab meant, when their reports said they inserted additional DNA into Malsum’s genetic heritage. It also explains why the horses feel some sort of affinity with Malsum. By splicing in certain equine traits, those mounted commandos had unmatched mobility and speed, better than any ATV.

Little Crow and Malsum take point as we begin our ride back to town. They maintain a steady pace through the wooded tracts we crossed the previous day. A high layer of clouds has moved in to block the direct sun, so it is cool enough that we put on some extra clothing throughout the day.

We do not encounter any traffic on the narrow dirt road; if there is anyone else, they give us a wide berth. I would certainly make myself scarce if I saw Malsum coming my way.

Malsum stays ahead of us, but Danae and I ride side by side when the trail allows, and we chat off and on. She tells me about growing up in Port Sadelow, and I describe my childhood in a small, rural town in Nevada. It was a different world and time before the Crash, but in many ways my early life was not that dissimilar from hers, aside from the luxuries I took for granted.

The sun is nearing the mountainous horizon when we reach the spot where the Disciples first camped two nights before. The high peaks around us will bring a swift nightfall. I know from our trip out that we will find no better spots between here and town, which is probably why this clear area is a frequent campsite.

I signal to Little Crow with a whistle that he should hold up, as I halt Saffron and turn toward Danae. “Do you mind if we stop here for the night?” I ask, and she just shrugs.

Apparently she bears no particularly bad memories from being here. Little Crow looks the terrain over and agrees that the location is suitable, then examines the overcast sky. He does not foresee rain overnight. I help Danae dismount from Thorn. My friend is stiff, but insists on walking to a tree stump near the established fire pit, where she can sit down.

While Little Crow tends to the horses and turns Malsum loose, I agree to scrounge around for firewood. The lioness bounds off into the forest, presumably to sup on some unlucky deer.

The previous campers have cleared out all the nearby fallen deadwood, so I have to go up the path a short ways to find some wood for our fire. I take Saffron with me, and manage to gather and tie together enough of a stockpile to see us through the night. With some effort, I balance the bundle on the horse’s back.

By the time I lead Saffron back into camp, Little Crow has a small fire started. Danae limps out of the bushes, swinging a fairly large rabbit by the ears; she must have killed it with her sling to supplement our meal of dried fruit and hard cakes.

After today’s events, I have a new appreciation for how handy that weapon can be in the wilderness. When she sets the carcass on a log by the fire pit and silently crumples off her feet, I admire just how much grit Danae has as well.

Little Crow sees where Danae set the rabbit down, and takes it over to the stream, where he kneels down next to it. Placing his hands on it, he closes his eyes and chants a phrase from his ancestral language, followed by, “Brother rabbit, we apologize that we had to take your life to nourish ourselves. We send you to the Great Spirit with our thanks, and may your children multiply in your place.”

Then he stands up and hands the rabbit back to Danae. While she works on preparing the meat, I remove a small package out of my pack, about the size of an old-fashioned hardback book.

When I unzip the case, the compacted, folded sheet of Kevlar-blend material slips out and expands. The buckyfiber tubes click into place, and seconds later, I have a nearly impenetrable instant lean-to that I set near the fire and prop up with several branches.

By the time I have the shelter set up, Danae has already skinned and dressed our dinner. She was not joking that time, when she said she could skin a rabbit. I just have to find a skewer; a nearby sapling serves as a suitable spit.

Darkness sweeps down on us like a rapidly falling cloak. We sit around the snapping fire, and I take the first round at rotating the rabbit on the spit. Malsum settles down on the opposite side of the fire, resting her massive head on her paws as she stares with unblinking eyes into the night. God only knows what has her attention transfixed, but I am sure it will not bother us.

Danae asks Little Crow, “When you did that ceremony for the rabbit, what was that about?”

“It’s something my people do, as part of living in harmony with the earth,” he replies. “My father taught it to me the first time he took me hunting. I was either six or seven, I’m not quite sure, but my father went to a nearby village to visit another tribe like my own. He was doing some trading and he brought me along with him. It was a two day trip each way, and we spent the second night at the other village.”

Little Crow breaks into a warm smile. “That was when I met the girl who would one day become my wife. She teased me a lot, and before I left, we hid behind her family’s hut and kissed, but that’s another story. Anyway, on the way back my father had me set a snare and the next morning when I checked it, I found a rabbit. The problem was that it wasn’t dead. One of its hind legs was caught and it was injured, so my father handed me a knife and said I had to kill it. I was so damn scared, because I had never killed anything before.”

At my skeptical look, Little Crow adds, “Well, sure, bugs and tadpoles, but I mean I had never killed a bigger animal. So he showed me how to hold its head down and make a quick slice through the throat to end its suffering. But my hand was shaking so much that I missed and just hurt it, and cut one of my fingers.”

Little Crow gives an ironic laugh for a moment before he somberly continues, “The poor thing was thrashing and making these horrible screaming noises, and all I could do was cry. I just couldn’t stop. Partly because of my finger, partly because I was upset about having to kill the rabbit, but mostly because I was ashamed to cry in front of my father. He didn’t get mad or anything, he just made me take a deep breath and try again. Then I got it right.

“After he bandaged my finger, he freed the dead rabbit from the snare and laid it on the ground. We both kneeled next to it, and he told me that we should only hunt for what we need, and show respect when we do. Everything is part of the great circle of life, he said, both the things we see and things we don’t see. Him, me, the trees and the rabbit, we were all connected by a web that binds us together.”

“Your father sounds like a very spiritual man,” Danae says.

Little Crow bursts out laughing. “My father? Not at all. He is a very practical man who thinks the Old Ways prevent us from thinking about the future. Except when he hunts—that’s something sacred to him. Don’t ask me to explain it,” Little Crow shrugs. “So, when I was showing respect to the rabbit with my prayer, I also showed respect to the circle it is part of.”

“Do you really think your prayer made any difference to the rabbit’s spirit?” Danae asks skeptically.

Little Crow smiles. “It made a difference to my spirit. That’s good enough for me.”

“I guess it’s my turn to tell a story, then,” Danae says as I pass the spit-turning responsibility over to Little Crow and feed a couple more logs into the fire.

“I had a similar memorable experience with my father,” Danae begins. “It was during a cross-country trip as well, when I was fifteen. My father was going upriver to help a small village that was fighting off a disease outbreak of some sort, and he asked me to come with him. I was certainly no doctor, but I did make a good assistant. He never said much about it, but I know he was disappointed right up to the end that I didn’t become a doctor like him.”

Danae stops for a moment to look away, and wipes tears from her eyes before she turns back to resume her tale.

“Anyway, we were on our way back home when he came down with the fever. So we had to stop and make camp for a couple days. It was on the second morning that I was feeding Papa some soup, and I looked up to see a pair of wolves running toward us, snarling. I didn’t even have time to think. I just picked up Papa’s sword and started running toward them.”

“What happened?” Little Crow and I ask simultaneously, when Danae pauses for a drink of water.

“I yelled at them as I ran, and we all came to a stop about twenty feet apart. I never thought of animals as having expressions, but I swear they both looked shocked. Then I waved the sword and yelled at them again, ‘Come on you bastards, let’s do this!’ They stood there for a second, and then both turned and ran.” Danae laughs. “I don’t like to fight, and don’t see myself as a warrior woman, but in that moment I meant what I said. I was so angry at them, all I wanted to do was take them on. To this day I can’t imagine why they fled.”

“Because you had absolutely no fear,” Little Crow responds. “They didn’t want to find out why you weren’t afraid of them.”

“Here’s the really funny thing about that whole experience,” Danae says. “After they ran off, I went back to Papa. The wolves didn’t return, so we just finished our soup and started packing up. I was helping Papa get to his feet when a jay flew by my head and scared the life out of me. All I remember after that was screaming and crying like a little girl, terrified that the bird was going to gouge out my eyes. I had no problem standing up to a pair of wolves, but to this day, don’t ever let a bird get near me.”

Little Crow checks the rabbit and declares that it is ready to eat. The roasted meat is rather tough, but still a welcome break from jerky. As we all take cautious bites of the hot meat, I decide to tell my wagon story.

“Well, I don’t have a story about traveling with my father, but one cross-country trip I will never forget was on one of my first retrievals. This was in a desert, far south of here.” Australia will mean nothing to either of my companions. “I was in the area investigating an obscure government facility, where I recovered some valuable data. On the way back to my pickup, I heard rumors about some nomads who could produce any kind of glassware someone wanted. They were obviously using some sort of technology, so I decided to look for them.”